The Stone of Anor
by Nillaithiel
Summary: Legolas must help an arrogant cult leader recover a stolen mystical gemstone before a demon uses it to resurrect all of Sauron's orc armies since the Battle of the Last Alliance.
1. The Guardians of the Stone

In those days, the shield of good over evil was a fine veil. All the lands were plausible segues for a siege and all of its inhabitants were pawns for the most powerful. Middle-Earth was the prize. 10 years had slowly crept by since Rakal and his legions were vanquished in the woods of Tamlot on the Bruinen. 10 years did Sauron retreat into the dark mountain and wail; his bitter defeat at the elf haven of Isodor still stinging in his unclean soul. The fires of Mount Doom roared in open fury. And for those unlucky enough to witness the outpouring, if they came away unscathed from the mere sight of it, they knew the depth of Sauron's rage and humiliation. It was as one watching a great tumult of lava and fire spewing into the air from too close a perch. It was menacing, fearful, anger without restraint. 10 years. It was but a drop of water in the vast oceans of timelessness to the immortals who wandered Middle-Earth then. Yet, for some, it was an eternity. Time was a cage from which there was no escape. It trudged on, oblivious to those that took notice to it. Time was a dream denied, an opportunity gone, and a moment never again to be savored. And for the Dark Lord Sauron, every instant that Middle-Earth did not despair in his iron grip was a wretched constraint upon that which would not be controlled. Yet the price to be paid by the one was not without reward to others. Peace and tranquility fell once more into Middle-Earth's waiting embrace, and this was a welcome respite to the guardians who stood vigilant watch over the very heart of the world's destruction.  
  
Then came a day when a strange occurrence happened that made the highest immortal beings of light quell with fear in their hearts. Barely perceptible it was, and to the untrained eye it was but nothing at all. But early on that overcast day, high upon a peak in somewhere in Ered Lithui, Gandalf the Gray sat upon his horse, Caildar. Surveying the intensity of the fire, which spewed from Mount Doom, he perceived that Sauron's eternal rage had somehow lessened. Spurring his horse, he galloped down the rocky slope, with all possible speed. For in that brief moment of dread, he discerned the danger of a new evil which was about to be unleashed upon the world, and he feared in his heart for all of Middle-Earth.  
  
In the early hours of a bright summer morning, a lone girl came running down the barren pathway of the hidden mountain of Goldorma. Her breathing labored as she jumped nimbly over large stones set along the tiny path, but still she did not think to remove the sparkling silver mask that covered her face. The mask was set at the back of her head with many long strings of red garnets. Her long auburn hair was tied tightly to the garnet strings as well. To remove the mask at all would require cutting her hair off. She was dressed in red trousers overlapped by a long, white tunic that almost fell to her knees. Along her waist was a broad, leather belt with a silver sheath attached to each side. Each sheath contained a single, highly ornamented silver dagger. The knives bounced off her sides as she sped through the forest. She did not look behind her, and no fears of being chased enveloped her. Her urgency lay to a much more serious matter, and she had no time. Her name was Ishil, and she was a loyal servant of the Fendowan Order (Guardians of the Stone), a devoted warrior sworn to but one cause, to defend the ancient gem of Anor.  
  
Past all remembered history the secrets of the Stone of Anor lay protected by the Fendowans. Each warrior vowed their life to the keeping of the stone, which was rumored to be a possible sister stone to the very Silmarils themselves. Long hidden from any eyes, even the highest of the elves were not positive of its existence, for all contact with the outside world was forbidden, lest the Fendowan, and therefore the stone, should be discovered. Rumors and myth prevailed of its impossible strength and magic. Though many searched for the secret mountain, few found it. The very power of the stone kept Goldorma (Mountain of the Fendowan) safely hidden from all eyes. This is not to say that people did not try. But those who did manage to find the secret Fendowan encampments were, without exception, found out and taken prisoner. They were bound and led to a small crack within a cliff wall. The luckless were then forced, by virtue of Fendowan law (and the Fendowan acknowledged no other law of the land, but their own), into a new ordeal: the stairway or outright death. It was a test of worthiness and courage, and all those who survived the elements and capture were subjected to it. All prisoners who dared the rite of the thousand stairs were told the same thing:  
  
"At the end of this sacred stairway lies the treasure you seek. Emerge here with the Fendowan token in your hand and you will have life, treasures, and honor unimagined. But if you turn back halfway and emerge as a coward, you will die."  
  
Many took this statement to mean "Emerge with the Stone of Anor in your possession", but they were sadly mistaken. None, not even the guardians themselves were ever allowed to remove the stone from its ancient resting place.  
  
Disappearing into the blackness was a tiny 2000-foot flight of steps, carved into the living rock of the mountain. This was the only entrance and exit, and no less than fifty alternate stairways tangled the labyrinth as they descended in the twisting, turning darkness. No torches lit the passageway. To take the incorrect path might result in stepping off a cliff into an endless chasm, or perhaps falling into a pit of wooden spikes. All was death but for the one way. And in all of history, none but 10 took the correct route and were eyewitness to the stone's glory, only to be taken into servitude by the stone itself and made its guardians. It was said by the Fendowan that the stone chose them and guided them to it. As they stood awed and beguiled, the light of the Stone of Anor would pour forth and envelope their very thoughts and minds. In attaining the alter room and bearing witness to the Stone of Anor's immense powers, the hunter became protector. Then, bent low within the alter room, the few who succeeded were thus awarded the Fendowan tunic, daggers and in the presence of the stone, their mask was placed onto their face, never to be taken off again. Emerging once more into the brightness of daylight, their daggers in hand, the newest chosen warrior was then welcomed into the Fendowan ranks. Only a Fendowan was ever permitted to leave the cave alive, it was the law. There was no other way.  
  
And so the endless vigil of the sect continued. Each Fendowan took their turn at descent into the blackness until the light of the alter room could be seen. The only entrance to this room was through a short 4 ft. doorway, from where 2 such Fendowan warriors kept a 24-hour vigil. To one the side of the alter, heaved into the rock were several vertical handmade cracks that disappeared into the ceiling. Below the cracks lay a tiny keystone, over which a Fendowan's hand rested at all times. If an attempt was ever made to remove the gem from the alter, the Fendowan guardians were sworn to pull the keystone from its resting place, resulting in a cave-in of half of the mountain on top of the room, thus preventing anyone from obtaining it. Only when one Fendowan appeared from the dark recesses of the passageway could another be relieved of their duty. The only relief from the stifling tiny space of the alter room was back into the blackness of the deadly stair.  
  
And when the Fendowans were not standing guard, their entire energies were engaged in training for battle. Every Fendowan was said to be a master of blade and bow. They were stealthy and relentless. And when the subject of a new search for the stone was discussed by battle-hardened men in the small towns, and they talked of the great myth: that to the keeper of the stone came the riches of the world, women clutching onto their children would turn and quickly walk away. It was rumored that even talking of the stone or the sect would result in sickness or death. No one who had ever left to seek for the stone had ever returned. For untold time then, the stone lay quiet and safe on a golden alter, and it saw neither the cool moonlit nights nor the warmth of day.  
  
Ishil pressed on. Springing through a babbling stream, water splashed into the air. She clawed her way up a hill to a long stone building with a thatched roof, which served as home to the Fendowan great warriors. These were of the highest rank amongst them, the bravest, the wisest, and the most deadly with a dagger. Two Fendowan women stood guard at the front door as she breathlessly ran past them. They did not attempt to stop her. They did not move, but only looked directly ahead. The business of a Fendowan warrior was not to be inquired after. Her devotion to her order was without question.  
  
Once inside the building, Ishil sprinted down a cold and damp hallway, until she came to a set of large, heavy wooden doors. On either side of the doors were two more guards, dressed as Ishil, but with their silver daggers in their hands, crossed over their chests. However, Ishil was not detained here either. She flung the doors open and staggered into the room. The chamber was sparsely furnished, but at the same time, it was surprisingly pleasant. Several heavy tapestries covered the walls, depicting long forgotten battles. Neatly sewn at the center of each tapestry, was the shining stone, behind it, a line of 10 masked warriors, one arm and dagger raised to the stars, the other menacingly pointing a dagger directly at the onlooker. There were furs on the floor, and urns of herbs, and a small wooden bed in the corner. The whole of the space was warmed against the cold outside air by a roaring fire. Two women, with golden masks, fashioned as Ishil's, sat at a smallish round table. Both were dressed in white tunics and trousers, both with their own golden daggers sheathed at their sides. To the back of the room stood another Fendowan, dressed as Ishil, obediently holding a small basket of fruit in one hand and a small pitcher of water with the other.  
  
For an instant, the two women paid no attention to the Ishil's intrusion. She stood there, saying nothing, trying to control her need for air. At last, Melune, the woman on the right, gazed up slowly at Ishil, who immediately fell to her knees, bowing her head. At first, Ishil did not know if she should speak or not. She waited for Melune to make a gesture or movement, but the high warrior returned only a hardened gaze at her, and said nothing.  
  
Presently, the other woman, whose name was Kizea, and also a Fendowan master, stood up from her chair. Her eyes darted at Melune, and then rested back upon Ishil. She walked around the table until she stood before the breathless girl, who instantly moved backwards on her knees, she bowed so low that her nose nearly touched the floor.  
  
"What news have you brought us Ishil?" she asked in a gentle voice. At last the girl felt she could heave air into her lungs. She breathed in deeply before speaking.  
  
"The stone!" she cried, bending down even further. Almost hysterical, the girl began to sob, and then immediately choked back her outburst.  
  
The woman bent down on one knee and gently touched the girl's trembling shoulder.  
  
"What of the stone, Ishil? Tell me what has happened?" she said again. The frightened girl looked up into the woman's eyes, placing a sweaty, white hand upon her.  
  
"Master Kizea, the stone is gone! It is stolen from the alter!"  
  
The woman sat for a moment and gazed into the frightened girl's eyes. No hint of deception was there, and yet she was speaking of the impossible. Kizea felt a sense of guilt for even questioning Ishil's demeanor, but how could such a thing be? By now Melune was standing before them. She too bent down on one knee.  
  
"You must tell us what has happened," Melune said in a serious tone, "How can the stone be gone?"  
  
Ishil did not like looking at Melune, who had come to the order from years beyond count. Yet time meant so little to the Fendowan who served in privilege. No face of the Fendowan was ever revealed; such was the law. Yet Ishil often pondered over Melune face and her true age. Hidden beyond her golden, gem-laden mask were startling black eyes. Ishil was often frightened when conversing with the high warrior, for she never could perceive any white in Melune's eyes, only a vast blackness that penetrated Ishil's very being. When Melune was not guarding over the stone, she trained, as did every warrior. Neither arrow nor blade could pass even close to her body but that she could divert it or destroy it altogether. Like Kizea, Melune was small in stature, but fast beyond measure of the eye with her daggers. She possessed the wisdom of an age, yet the body and skill of a hardened warrior in her prime of life. Without question, Melune was perhaps the most skilled and quick of all of them, and certainly the most mysterious. Ishil gazed down and did not look up.  
  
"Where are Karemwen and Codesea?" Kizea asked, "For they should have been in the alter room."  
  
"Both dead, master," said Ishil. Her voice trembled and she kept her gaze to the floor.  
  
"The keystone was not pulled! They were overtaken somehow. I do not know how. And the stone is gone!"  
  
Kizea and Melune stood up, but Ishil remained on the floor, not knowing what to do. She feared the inevitable wrath of the high warriors at such grievous news, and thought her moment of death had come. Earlier in the day, Ishil had descended the stairs, as she always did, to relieve Karemwen of her duty. She only thought it odd when she perceived no light towards the end of the stairs. She entered the alter room, only to find the two guardians lifeless on the hard, cold stone in the pitch black of the tiny chamber.  
  
A slight knock on the door momentarily distracted Melune. Another warrior, on her knees, beckoned the great warriors from their council. Melune said nothing, but stepped lightly outside to the front of the building where Karemwen and Codesea were only now being carried. Melune stood silent as their bodies were placed at her feet, all the Fendowan warriors then bent to one knee and waited. Melune moved to look over Karemwen, her bluing hands still clutching a silver dagger. Reaching out a slender hand, Melune pushed the dead girl's head from one side to the other. Her eye caught sight of something glimmering in a scant ray of sunlight that edged its way through the forest canopy. Moving aside the warrior's hair, Melune pulled a tiny dart from the girl's neck and examined it. Then she returned to the chamber where Kizea and Ishil waited.  
  
"Ishil," Melune said finally.  
  
"Master?"  
  
"You may stand. Gather every warrior to the gate. Kizea and I will be out shortly."  
  
"Yes, master."  
  
The young girl rose and walked out quickly. The two guards now closed the creaking door shut, leaving Kizea and Melune inside. Melune waited patiently for the room to empty before she spoke. When the door was completely shut, Melune walked close to Kizea and held out the tiny needle that she had pulled from Karemwen's neck.  
  
"This is how they were overtaken," Melune said solemnly, "Twas a poisoned dart. I am not sure what was used, but it worked fast enough that there was no time to pull the keystone from the wall."  
  
Kizea scrutinized the tiny pin in her outstretched hand.  
  
"I am suspecting one of our own has done this deed," Melune whispered. Kizea's head jerked up sharply.  
  
"That is not possible," Kizea said, astonished, "I can believe that of no Fendowan."  
  
Melune looked back at the door as if to make sure it was tightly shut before leaning closer to Kizea.  
  
"The guardians were overtaken before they were aware of what happened. Only Karemwen had time to pull a single dagger before she was killed. Whoever did this knew well the labyrinth passageway, and was able to approach the guards. I suspect it was someone they knew, someone from within. Perhaps even Ishil."  
  
Kizea walked away quickly shaking her head, as if she wished to hear no more.  
  
"I tell you it is not possible. What purpose could they have in doing such an act?" Melune moved slowly to where Kizea stood and whispered again.  
  
"You know as well as I the temptation. To the user of the stone comes the world."  
  
Kizea's eyes shot up. Melune continued,  
  
"The Fendowan are gathering at the gate. We must go and ascertain if anyone is missing. If all are present then perhaps the Anor stone is not far. It may be concealed."  
  
"You are wrong, I tell you. It is not possible. I think perhaps it may have been a wizard or some other stranger with knowledge and good fortune to their side. Some new evil has descended upon us. Let us hurry my friend, every moment we tarry, the greater the risk to Middle-Earth."  
  
"Come then," replied Melune, "Let us not waste precious time."  
  
The two women walked quickly out to the great stone gate that hailed the entryway to the Fendowan compound. To the passing eye, it was but a stone crevice, veiled in ivy and forest mosses. However, on the opposite side of the entryway, there emerged a clearer pathway on the vast forest floor which led to the Fendowan houses, if indeed, they could be called houses. They were more like Hobbit houses really, some no more than a wooden doorway that led into the recesses of underground chambers. These were done more from necessity rather than from lack of skill. Each chamber led in some way (through underground pathways) to another so that all could be accessed. The only building then to stand aboveground for all to see, was the home for the high warriors. At a mere glance, the entire Fendowan camp looked no more than a mere cottage deep in the woods.  
  
At last, Kizea and Melune stood at the great gate, surveying those Fendowan who had gathered. Present were Ishil, Rundien, Aldunen, Sasgal, Tragora and the only Fendowan man, Valnin. The man was, in fact, Kizea's half-brother. There was no law amongst the Fendowan declaring the order was solely for women, but to manage the labyrinth, one had to be, by necessity, physically small and yet powerful in stamina. Valnin was but half a hand's length taller than Kizea, and had taken his appointment as much a matter of devotion to his sister, as to guard the stone. This was not to say that Valnin did not take his position lightly; as with the others, he trained, he lived alone, and he took his vital role as a Fendowan to the utmost center of his heart. Kizea, being relived, remembered no past thing of her former life. But Valnin remembered all. And though Valnin offered to explain their former existence to his sister from time to time, Kizea expertly circumvented the issue, for now there was only the stone, and nothing else was of consequence to her.  
  
Valnin and Kizea were, by far, the newest members to the Fendowan sect. As with many others, Valnin had heard the tales of the Stone of Anor's immense powers. But it was not until his sister's untimely death that he actively searched for the Fendowan mountain of Goldorma. So devoted to her he was, that he could not bear living in the world without her. Bearing his sister's body on his steed, Valnin ventured deep into the Misty Mountains and followed a single tale he had heard tell of the stone's location. Whilst in an unexpected company of elves, he had overheard them discussing the mythical pathway that led to the stone.  
  
"In the Misty Mountains lies the pathway of golden light. Follow it, and there might be found the fabled stone."  
  
He searched tirelessly, and just when he thought he would be forced to give up his quest and bear his sister away to her burial, he spied late one night a distant shining on an, overgrown and forgotten pathway. And in following it, he quickly found himself captured with knife and bow at his head. But in given a prisoner's choice, Valnin had happily accepted the thousand stairs, with one condition: he begged to bear with him his dead sister, and it was agreed. Down into the bleak recesses of the tunnel he went, dragging Kizea's lifeless body after him. He would stop and breathe and pray to the stone for salvation.  
  
"I ask not to see your glory for my own sake, and nor would I take you from your appointed resting place. But I would humbly ask to see my sister alive again, for she is of the purest and bravest heart. Lead me to you, oh flame of Anor! Or let us both perish to the depths of oblivion!"  
  
And after toiling some hours, the light of the alter room penetrated the blackness, and Valnin bowed low on his knees and begged once more of the Fendowan guardians to allow him to draw near to the stone with his sister's body. And so astonished were the guardians that he managed the stairs without mishap, that they granted his request. And as he drew close to the stone, it suddenly blazed a golden hue upon everyone present, and Valnin's sister opened her eyes, and her skin was shining and young again. Yet in receiving such a gift, a high price was exacted. Kizea knew not of her brother or any past thing of her life. All she knew was her dedication to the stone. And so Valnin and Kizea were brought into the Fendowan order, equal and honored.  
  
However, it soon became clear among them that Kizea now possessed many new and powerful skills. And all knew, because of her new abilities, that she had been particularly favored by the stone. Yet Kizea was not the only one who had displayed such prowess. Melune also had been brought to life by the stone, long before any tale could be recalled of how this came about, and she too exhibited such skill and leadership. And so both she and Kizea were made high warriors of the sect, and all the Fendowan honored Kizea and Melune in their own rite.  
  
Now there stood 6 warriors gathered, each bent on one knee to show respect to the leaders which now stood silently before them. All were accounted for. Kizea gazed at each mask, each set of eyes downcast, before she broke the silence.  
  
"Karemwen and Codesea are dead," she began somberly, "And the stone of Anor is stolen from the alter." A small gasp rose up from several warriors.  
  
"Has no one seen anything? Was there no forewarning?" Kizea asked. Each warrior looked at the other, until at last Valnin spoke.  
  
"I don't know if I saw anything, great Kizea, perhaps it was nothing."  
  
Melune's eyes rested upon Valnin and she walked directly up to him.  
  
"What did you see? Speak now!"  
  
Valnin lowered his gaze.  
  
"I was gathering berries in yonder forest early in the morn, barely at daybreak, when I saw a Fendowan running through the forest."  
  
Kizea walked up to her brother and knelt before him. Her reassuring presence was a relief to him.  
  
"Who was it?" she asked.  
  
"I could not tell," he replied earnestly, "I only thought it odd when I called out to them and they did not stop, but continued running. They headed northward, that is all I know."  
  
Kizea stood up.  
  
"Who then was in the wood near the thousand stair this morning?" Melune demanded. None answered.  
  
Kizea motioned to Melune, who approached her.  
  
"If this were a stranger who has come to us with great knowledge, they could have disguised themselves as one of us. We must embark to all ends of the forest at once!"  
  
Melune eyed her for a moment through her shining mask. Kizea turned suddenly towards the group with the intent of a new address, but Melune stepped in front of her once again and leaned in to whisper.  
  
"Let me go with my own sentry." Melune said, "There is yet a need to stay within the compound, for if the thief is among us now, then the stone may be nearby, and they may yet be discovered. I will take several with me and we will find the trail. It may indeed lead back to the compound."  
  
A small gasp rose up within the ranks. For Melune to even suggest such a possibility was unthinkable. Kizea looked deeply into her black eyes. Her countenance betrayed no feeling of urgency or doubt, but only her strong will. But Melune was not addressing a mere pupil. Kizea thought of Melune as no more of a higher being than she thought of herself as one. They were on equal levels, and Kizea, in her own arrogance, took heed only of her own council. If Melune was resolute that Kizea and a company of the Fendowan should stay, Kizea was equally as resolute that ALL of them should endeavor to go. Kizea sidestepped past her friend.  
  
"No," Kizea replied, "We must ALL go. This task falls to us all. It would be foolhardy to leave the stone so close to its keepers. If the thief knows the way through the labyrinth, so must they know the penalty for discovery. I believe the thief even now hastens to the end of the forest for more hospitable ground. For in the dark regions of Ryalan, we are the masters. Valnin has said the stranger headed north, but I think only a great fool would lead themselves away from the valley regions. We will not fair so well hunting our quarry in the surrounding territories."  
  
She walked around the tall, dark Melune and faced the other Fendowan, who were yet bent down upon one knee, waiting for their commands. Melune eyed her slowly and then the others. They, all of them, listened intently as Kizea began to speak. Melune listened Kizea and with a sense of jealousy and admiration, for she truly was a commander. A small flush came to her face, and she pursed her lips. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, her anger subsided and she hinged upon all of the high Fendowan's words as well.  
  
"We will divide and search the forest. With the stone's grace, we shall return it to the sacred alter before the sun sets in the West, and bring the thief to our justice." Kizea announced.  
  
Several of the Fendowan glanced sideways at one another, and seemed puzzled by her words. When a warrior was accepted to the task of guarding the sacred stone of Anor, they did not venture outside of the woodlands of Ryalan again for the remainder of their lives. But then, the situation was desperate. The Stone of Anor had to be returned and the perpetrator punished, of this they were all certain.  
  
"Aldunen, Ishil, Rundien," Kizea said sternly, "You shall accompany me."  
  
The three Fendowan stood up immediately, each placing a hand on their daggers in a sign of devotion. But as Kizea turned to walk away, she halted and turned her head once more at the group.  
  
"Valnin. You also shall accompany with me."  
  
Underneath his silver mask, a smile came to her brother's face as he stood to his feet. The others remained on one knee, their heads bowed.  
  
"Melune," Kizea said. The Fendowan master looked up at her counterpart, her black eyes seemingly staring at nothing. It was a look that Kizea had become accustomed to over the years, and she had always thought little of it. But now, Melune's blank lifeless eyes unsettled Kizea, for there was not the slightest bit of urgency or worry in Melune's countenance.  
  
"Take these, the rest of our order into Ryalan. Search you to the West and North. I am for the South and East. Bid you good fortune in your quest, and may you find the Stone of Anor before the blackness of night descends onto the woods of Ryalan. One more thing, if you should find them first, I want the thieves brought before me alive."  
  
"Be assured, great Kizea," Melune replied earnestly, her black eyes glistening. There seemed to be a touch of admiration in her voice. "By our journey's end, the Stone of Anor shall be in my very hand. But to bring the thieves back untouched will not be such an easy task. When they are found, they will surely know what awaits them and take their own lives."  
  
"ALIVE, Melune!" Kizea repeated angrily, "Make no mistake!"  
  
And the other Fendowans stared with much wonder and amazement when Melune nodded her head slightly to Kizea. Then Kizea placed a tiny hand on Melune's shoulder and her demeanor eased.  
  
"Bid you good hunting, my friend," Kizea said, "The stone shall return to the alter, and the world will be safe once more."  
  
Kizea turned and walked away, followed by her small entourage. Melune stood silently until Kizea and the others disappeared beyond the gate. Then she turned to the remaining Fendowan who awaited her orders, and she smiled at them all. 


	2. Valnin's Demise

Kizea's group held together, walking silently in the wood. Their stealth was such that no animal heard their approach. It was often said that the Fendowan were all descended of the elves, though this was not the case. All of them came to the stone from all corners of Middle-Earth. All came for their own reasons. Some came for greed and lust of power. Some came with the intent to use the stone to re-instate Middle-Earth to its former glory and rid the world of all evils. Still others came for the simple reason of grief and love. And although this was once Valnin's own reason, he could not have imagined a higher honor than to be placed in the stone's service. And once he stood before the stone's glory, he became unconcerned of his sister's welfare.  
  
But now, as the group trotted through the brush and mud of a mountain stream, his thoughts turned back to those times. He reminisced of his mother and stepfather. When Valnin was younger, he had no associations with his sister. She had grown up with a life of privilege, and he in a life of hardship. After Kizea's mother died of a fever, Kizea's powerful father did not remarry, but took to his bed the most beautiful women in the realm. Such was Valnin's mother. She raised her son in anonymity, but Valnin eventually grew to know that he had a sibling. Then the darker days came. While out on a fishing trip, the orc general Rakal swept through the Anduin valley and laid waste to all the lands in his path. The only home and family Valnin had ever known was destroyed. The few that remained set out to find Rakal and exact retribution for his crimes. Unbeknownst to Valnin, his sister had also survived the attacks. They found themselves together in a meager army, set out for the elf havens of Isodor and Tamlot, to confront and stop the orc army from taking the elf havens to slavery or death. There, in that bloody battle was Kizea killed, and Valnin set out on his new quest, to find the fabled gem. He had not thought of the past in years, but now his thoughts were changing. Valnin took notice of his companions as they walked and wondered if perhaps they were thinking similar thoughts. Hastening his pace, Valnin sidled up to Kizea, and spoke softly to her, almost in a whisper.  
  
"One thing bothers me," he began quietly.  
  
However, Kizea, still intent on her mission, paid little heed to him. She kept up her pace, and Valnin was forced to trot to keep up with her. When she refused a reply a second time, he slunk back into line and said no more. But suddenly from behind, a soft voice spoke up. It was Aldunen.  
  
"What troubles you, Valnin?" she asked.  
  
Valnin's behavior had been undeniably remorseful since the discovery earlier. Aldunen thought perhaps Valnin felt guilty for having possibly seen the thief and not stopped them. She meant to comfort him in some small way. She meant to remind him that a Fendowan's business was never questioned. It was simply not done, and he would've been within his rights to do nothing. He turned his head and glanced backwards at the tall, stately girl. She quickened her pace until she walked beside him.  
  
"Do not be distressed by Melune's sharp tongue. And I would not see you grieve over not having stopped a Fendowan imposter. How sadder would you now be having delayed the urgent business of one of our own? Especially in light of what has happened."  
  
"That is not what troubles me," he said in a low voice.  
  
"What is it?" she asked, "Surely you do not have an idea that Master Melune could be correct, that we've a traitor among us. It is impossible."  
  
"More is the pity!" he said softly, "Master Melune and I are in agreement on this one point. A Fendowan it was! It must have been! Alas!"  
  
At this, Kizea stopped and abruptly turned around, glaring at him. The others stopped, and were so frightened by her demeanor, that they all fell to their knees at once. All save for Valnin.  
  
"You have something to say, Valnin? Out with it! Or hold thy wretched tongue! For I will not suffer to hear this treasonous speech from a Fendowan of the highest order! I will not hear the words you are whispering! How dare you accuse one of your own order of such an evil deed?"  
  
Bowing his head low before the seething Kizea, he swallowed hard before speaking.  
  
"I have but one thing that troubles me," he whispered. His voice cracked. Before Kizea's angry confrontation, his self-confidence had all but dissolved.  
  
"What then? Speak it or be silent!"  
  
"Great and wise Kizea, if a stranger should negotiate the thousand stair, a grand feat to be sure, why would the Stone of Anor not press that honored person to its service? It has all others before them."  
  
Kizea's gaze seemed to ease a bit. For a moment she had no reply to him.  
  
"I do not know why," she said at last, "I do not question the stone!"  
  
"I know why," Valnin replied gazing at her, "Because the thief is already in the stone's service. That is why."  
  
Kizea stared blankly at her brother, and then at the others. She walked over to Aldunen, who still knelt, fearing her leader's anger. Kizea gently pulled on Aldunen's arm and coaxed him to stand. The others followed suit. And when all were on their feet once again, Kizea stood before her brother, and spoke with a new softness in her voice.  
  
"When we find the Stone of Anor, Valnin, we shall find our thief. For I do not believe that they could have gotten far. And then you shall see that you are mistaken, my brother. All will be well. The light of Anor will be recovered, and the thief who poses as a Fendowan will be put to an appropriate end, I will see to it myself. All will be well again. I am sure of it."  
  
Valnin nodded slowly, but Kizea could still see the doubt that hung in his eyes. Looking about the group, she spoke up again.  
  
"We are wasting precious time. Let us proceed to the cave and mark the trail. We will pursue our quarry from there. Let us all be mindful that we are come together for a single purpose, and that is to retrieve the Secret Fire (the Stone of Anor) to its rightful place. Let us away."  
  
With that, Kizea spun on her heel and continued on through the forest. Upon reaching the cave entrance, they set to a new direction to the south, and towards the Pass of Balsor. Although Kizea remained confident that the sacred gem would be recovered that same day, it was not to be so. The group trudged through the wood all through the night, and the following day. At times the trail seemed to break, or disappear altogether. A broken stick, a smudged bit of dirt, or a faint footprint however, always showed the way.  
  
One day turned to another, until almost a week had passed them by, and still they followed the trail southwards, until they were nigh on one of the most southerly passes across the Misty Mountains, the Pass of Balsor. They slept and ate little, and the entire company was growing weary. With no supplies and no warmth, negotiating the treacherous passageway would be difficult, but Kizea had no intentions of returning and outfitting themselves. They rested in the green foothills for one night. Wood was plentiful, and many fish were plucked from the mountain streams. That night, the Fendowans feasted on a supper of berries and fish, and prepared to make the crossing on the following day, when the warmth of the sun would be their ally. Their spirits were high.  
  
The pass, which cut a ragged road over the mountains, lay somewhere between the High Pass and the Redhorn Pass, which for most travelers, was situated too uncomfortably close to the infamous Dwarven realm of Moria. When Irwindal and Tuluth were bustling kingdoms on the Anduin, the Pass of Balsor was commonly used by the race of men. Although that particular trail was not used without some care, for it dumped out on the opposite side of the mountains very close to the elven city of Isodor, and it was not a wise man that trespassed upon elven ground. But now, following the ruin of the once great cities, few beings traveled over the nearly forgotten road. Indeed, in time, the Pass of Balsor would disappear altogether from traveler's maps. Each of Kizea's warriors carried with them an armload of wood, to ensure a warming fire in the cold darkness. The stars were so numerous in the evenings that several of the Fendowan felt their very path was being lighted before them in the dead of the night, and none wished to take rest. They, all of them, took the evening's brightness as a sign that their quest was drawing to an end, and their ordeal was nearly over.  
  
They walked in silence for days, only stopping for a few brief hours each night to sleep. They huddled together to keep warm, but rest was only a pleasant memory for them. Until the stone was found, they could neither sleep nor eat well, and only sheer exhaustion prompted a few of the group to sleep soundly. Kizea, however, could only take short catnaps. She would awake in the darkness and jump to her feet and prod the others to continue the journey. It was her only goal, the only thought in her mind.  
  
Luckily, mid-summer was coming to its zenith. There was no snow, and very little wind in the southern parts of the mountains at that time of year, although it did remain cold when the sun tucked itself away in the western sky. Now their trail was laid out before them like a beacon over a vast ocean of rock and dirt. Being well skilled in tracking quarry, the footprints that brazenly appeared in the dirt were not difficult to follow.  
  
When they had finally traversed the treacherous Bandal ridge, Kizea found something that had surprised her, even shocked her. Kizea's group had now emerged on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains, having negotiated the crossing. Now they began to see green trees shooting up here and there, growing thicker in the low lands. And the tributaries that would eventually come to form the river Gladden in the Anduin valley now became more frequent. But as Kizea's keen eyes followed a deep footprint in the mud, she suddenly stopped short.  
  
"What is it?" asked Valnin as he walked up to her. Kizea pointed beyond the brushes to 5 other sets of footprints.  
  
"Others have passed this way recently," she whispered, "It seems we are not the only ones hunting our quarry today."  
  
Ishil came up behind them to look as well. Kizea began to scan the landscape in every direction.  
  
"Master Melune perhaps?" Ishil asked quietly. Kizea shook her head.  
  
"No," Kizea replied, "Melune should be pursuing any trails to the North or West. And see here, there are 5 distinct sets of footprints. We must be cautious now."  
  
Towards a distant cliff, the group suddenly became aware of laughter of sorts, mingled with cries and muffled voices. Kizea immediately dropped to the ground, her arm extended outward and in back of her. The rest of the group halted, frozen in their respective places. Kizea turned her head and motioned to Valnin to follow her, and the others to stay where they were. The two then moved quietly towards the cliff.  
  
As they approached the clearing, they crept along on their hands and knees until they reached the top of a cliff. Beyond it, a tremendous crashing of water resounded throughout the foothills as the falls fell over the precipice. Kizea peeked through some thick brush and gazed worriedly at the source of the commotion. What she saw perplexed her. It was, in fact, Melune and the remainder of the order. There were also two large orc soldiers. This was most strange to Kizea, for she was unaware of any Fendowan befriending any outsiders. Seeing nearly half of the Fendowan in the company of orcs astonished her. Another woman, whom Kizea did not recognize, stood before Melune, and was being held by one of the orcs. She was dressed as a Fendowan, but wore neither mask nor blade. A leather purse hung from her belt. She was beseeching Melune to spare her. Pulling her own golden dagger from its sheath, Melune cut the purse from the girl's waist and held it for a brief moment in front of her. Kizea knew that it must be the Stone of Anor, found at last. Kizea was almost overwhelmed with happiness, but still something held her back. The presence of the orcs troubled her, and she did not know why.  
  
As Kizea watched the scene unfold, Valnin crept up behind her. In seeing Melune and the others, he perceived what Kizea did; that the thief and the Stone of Anor were found at last. Joyously Valnin leapt to his feet and broke through the Brush, running happily towards the group. Melune jerked her head in the boy's direction.  
  
"Valnin!" Kizea cried out standing up, "Hold!"  
  
One of the orcs whirled around, and instantly set out towards Valnin. The other orc, who had been holding the imposter captive, took the captive girl's head between its massive hands and jerked his arms to the left. A sudden crack, like a breaking tree branch was heard, and the girl fell dead.  
  
By now, Kizea was through the bushes and sprinting up to the group. When the orc came close, Valnin drew both of his daggers. The creature however was huge; three times Valnin's size. When they clashed the beast simply picked up the boy in one swift motion, and threw Valnin to the side. Valnin landed and staggered backwards, directly into the arms of the second orc, which grabbed him from behind. Valnin struggled with the creature for a brief instant before it lifted Valnin clean over its head.  
  
"Melune! Melune!" cried Kizea as she ran, "Stop him! Stop him!"  
  
But the Fendowan high priestess merely stood gazing at the creature, and did nothing. The orc looked back at Kizea. Then with an evil laugh, he heaved Valnin over the edge of the cliff his screams became fainter and then disappeared altogether. Drawing her blades as she ran, Kizea screamed in anguish. The orc bent forward in a defensive posture, preparing to deliver the same fate to Kizea.  
  
Melune briefly lowered the leather purse in her hand, suddenly interested in Kizea's performance. She had never actually seen Kizea fight to the death. Many days would Melune silently watch the others as they trained. But only Kizea, bent on training in secrecy, moved about the Ryalan woods and let no audience near her. Melune was always intensely curious as to the level of Kizea's skill, and whether or not it exceeded her own. Whenever Kizea returned from training in the cool afternoons, Melune would often venture out to different areas of the woods until she thought she had spied her counterpart's training site. She would examine the same dead tree trunk, used as Kizea's target. Then Melune endeavored to examine the lush forest floor to find where Kizea had stood, for hitting a target from a short distance would be no great feat.  
  
But Melune could find no footprint or broken blade of grass, and although Kizea trained daily for hours, there ever remained but one solitary knife wound in her target. Melune remained confused by these meager signs, until one day she hid secretly nearby to discover the truth. The Fendowan master had come to the conclusion that Kizea simply did not train in that area of the woods any longer, but she was mistaken. She waited until the height of the morning had passed, and then to her astonishment, Kizea came, leaping from tree to tree. Hanging upside down by her feet or dangling from one arm, Kizea heaved her weapons at the miniscule target below from all angles, each time striking the exact same spot. She never missed. She would then pounce onto the tree trunk from somewhere above, retrieve her weapons, and begin the process over.  
  
Now, the entertainment of the impending battle between Kizea and the huge orc was too enticing to ignore. She looked on with morbid curiosity. Melune was certain, as was the orc, that Kizea would jump at the beast and attempt to bury her two golden daggers into its chest. But Kizea could plainly see that the creature wished to pitch her off the cliff as it did her brother. So rather than jump on the orc, she jumped at him. Garnering as much speed as possible, she leapt into the air, tightening her legs. She aimed the impact of her attack at the orc's left shin. When the outside rim of her heel made contact, a sudden crack could be distinctly heard. The monster cried out in pain and dropped to its knees. As though she had bounced off a wall of stone, Kizea twirled around and fell onto the ground. The orc had almost fallen on top of her. The beast instantly reached out and grabbed her by the hair, pinning down her left hand. It greedily eyed the golden, jeweled dagger in Kizea's grasp, and the creature thought to claim it for its own. After all, there would be no greater trophy than a Fendowan's dagger and a Fendowan without her weapons was a much easier prey to overcome. But instead of wrenching its prize away, the orc's greasy fingers slipped and yanked back on Kizea's fingers instead. Two more cracks could be heard, coupled with a sudden, muffled cry. And in an instant, two of Kizea's fingers were dislocated.  
  
Melune smiled beneath her mask as she watched, and she wondered how long Kizea would defend herself being thus injured. But Kizea was not one to easily give up. Taking advantage of the beast's loosened grip, Kizea pulled her arm free and stabbed at the orc's neck. Blackened gooey, blood dripped from the creature. The orc looked down at Kizea, at the intense fury in her eyes. Without another sound, it fell over, lifeless, her razor-sharp dagger shoved completely through its neck. The smile slowly left Melune's face as Kizea slowly rose to her feet. Straddling the dead creature and breathing heavily, Kizea glared at Melune. Kizea cried out and heaved her remaining dagger at Melune. But the Fendowan master merely blocked it with her arm, and it fell harmlessly to the ground.  
  
From the brush now came Kizea's other companions. They had approached the area in time to see Kizea kill one of the orcs. Now they burst through the bushes, crying out, their daggers drawn. The second orc, having retrieved its bow, pulled back on the string until it nearly broke under the strain. The orc shot dead the first Fendowan that jumped into the clearing. Those who had accompanied Melune, Sasgal and Tragora, drew their own weapons and ran towards the others.  
  
Melune took three steps backwards, but her gaze never strayed from Kizea.  
  
"I've no time for you, Kizea," Melune said menacingly, "I've more important matters to attend to."  
  
"What are you doing?" Kizea cried out, "Order them to stop!"  
  
Melune chuckled and drew up the purse. Tipping it over, an overwhelming bright light pierced the misty waterfall, as the Stone of Anor fell into Melune's open hand. Ishil lowered her guard, and stared at the mystical gem in Melune's hand. Running up to her, Tragora seized the opportunity and struck Ishil in her temple with the butt end of her dagger. The unsuspecting girl fell over instantly, next to Aldunen, unconscious. Aldunen, who was now similarly wounded by Sasgal, found it difficult to fight in the stone's presence. She was mesmerized and could not fight back, but could only gaze at the stone's intense light as she lay helpless on the ground.  
  
"The Stone of Anor!" whispered Kizea, her eyes widening.  
  
"Yes!" Melune laughed as she held the shining gem triumphantly above her head, "And now it shall remain MY servant for all time."  
  
"Traitor!" Kizea cried angrily as she stepped forward, "I'll kill you!"  
  
But Melune only laughed and motioned to her orc underling. The creature began walking ominously towards Kizea. Clenching her left fist, Kizea struck the hideous creature in the face with what was left of her strength. It turned for a moment, wincing at the blow, and slowly drew back its head. A hideous smile came to its mouth, exposing its many glistening teeth. Then it grabbed Kizea violently by the neck, and began forcing Kizea backwards until she stood upon the very brink of the falls. Kizea wildly kicked at the huge creature, but had little leverage against the enormous beast. In the background, Melune continued to gloat triumphantly.  
  
"Have you learned nothing these long years?" Melune laughed, "No Fendowan may spill the blood of another Fendowan, the stone will prevent you! That is why I need these creatures! I would have taken much pleasure in a duel to the finish with you, my dearest friend, but he will dispatch you for me just as easily!"  
  
Kizea perceived in those final few moments that Valnin was at least, in part, correct; the traitor was from within their own ranks, and the traitor was Melune. With her company dispatched, and on the brink of oblivion herself, there seemed little hope now for her survival. She did not yet comprehend what purpose Melune had planned for the Stone of Anor, but Melune had shattered the entire Fendowan order to achieve it. Kizea's heart, in her final miserable moments, filled with intense hatred for her trusted former friend. She prepared herself for the inevitable drop from the cliff, thinking that with luck on her side she might be able to grab onto a rocky ledge. But the moment did not come. Just as the orc held Kizea at the brink of the cliff, everyone's attentions turned upward to the sky.  
  
As many will tell you, in the struggle of good and evil there can be such rare and haphazard occurrences as to tip the scales one way or the other, creating hope where there was none, even if only for a short time. Such a moment was this.  
  
On this mid-summer's day, the mighty eagle, Gwaihir the Windlord, friend to elves and wizards alike, Lord of the skies, by chance was soaring over the foothills of Balsor. Indeed, this ground was not of his territory, which was in the North, but at need he extended his vigilant eye to the lower mountain passes. Here then, flying far above the peaks, he spied a glint of white light, and heard the faint clangs of metal upon metal, and the raised laughter of Sauron's hideous orcs, too far from their home. With a sweep of his giant wing, he turned suddenly in for closer inspection, and he saw plainly the Stone of Anor, far below, raised up to the sky in Melune's hand and perceived a dire situation unfolding before him. For he was well aware the gem of such renown could not easily be exposed so to the light of day but for some unknown treachery. And so without warning or thought to the ongoing battle or its combatants, he swooped down into the fray and in an instant snatched the shimmering gem from Melune's gloating hand, and set out without delay towards the sprawling Anduin valley, heading eastward.  
  
Melune screamed in fury, and ran to the brink of the falls, clutching her stinging hand with the other. Uttering obscenities, she watched helplessly as Gwaihir spirited away her prize until she could see him no more. Melune whirled around, stomped her feet and kicked at the dead orc that Kizea had killed earlier. Then turning to her warriors, she commanded that they should set off at once to kill the eagle and recover the stone. Turning around one more time, she glared angrily at the orc who still held Kizea at bay.  
  
"Kill her! NOW!" she screeched, "And catch up to us as you can!"  
  
The orc simply growled in response, and watched Melune and her companions run through the brush and disappear. Now alone, the orc slowly returned his stare to Kizea, and grinned evilly. He thought to prolong his pleasure in killing her, and he took two steps backward, dragging the fighting girl with him. Kizea gasped for breath and fought the huge creature, to no avail. His iron grip did not waver. With one free arm, the orc slowly drew a bloodied knife from its belt. Its arm drew high, preparing to plunge it at some previously chosen target on Kizea. But suddenly its eyes widened and it heaved in a deep breath, and turned its head as though it were confused. Kizea could feel the orc's grip loosening around her neck, and she renewed her struggles to free herself. At that moment, the orc lurched forward and the two fell to the ground. The orc was dead, having been slain by Aldunen with one of its own arrows. Aldunen stood teetering back and forth, some 25 feet away. The bow was still tight within her grasp. The arrow had hit its mark, sailing clean through the orc's heart. Having accomplished her task, Aldunen sank to her knees, lowing her head, breathing hard.  
  
Kizea remained still for a fraction of a second, wondering if perhaps the orc was only pretending to be dead. Then she sat up quickly and roughly shoved the orc's arm away from her; its hand still clenched about her throat, even in death. Coughing, Kizea turned her head to gaze at Aldunen, and then she struggled to stand. Kizea looked at the carnage around her, bodies and blood. It was an eerily familiar sight to her, although she didn't recall actually ever being in a battle. The dirt of her fight was only now beginning to settle upon the ground. Kizea's eyes turned to the endless eastern sky and her mind began to attempt an explanation of what had just occurred. As Aldunen helped Ishil to her feet, the two limped over to where Kizea stood staring over the falls.  
  
"Master," Ishil whispered, "We cannot find Valnin. Has Melune taken him?"  
  
Kizea's head whirled around, her eyes widening at the remembrance of his being thrown from the cliff.  
  
"Valnin!" cried Kizea, "He is over the falls! Quickly! We must find him!"  
  
Turning back around Kizea placed a rigid thumb onto her dislocated fourth finger. Taking in a deep breath and holding it, she shoved hard on the back of her hand. The finger popped back into place, and the Fendowan high warrior bent forward slightly, trying to overcome the agony of the treatment without uttering a sound. It was a typical Fendowan custom. They all felt pain, as any being would, but it was considered weakness of character to show it. Ishil looked away, grimacing as she heard Kizea's knuckle crack. By the time Ishil turned her head again, Kizea had already sprinted to the first fallen orc to retrieve her golden dagger. Beyond a shrubbery, Aldunen stood quietly next to Kizea's second golden dagger, waiting patiently for Kizea to make her way over. It was not any lower Fendowan's place to even touch the golden daggers of the high warriors. She could only point it out and wait for Kizea to retrieve it herself. Kizea trotted over, and with an approving nod of her head, picked up and wiped off her weapon. After the dagger was cleaned, Kizea reached to the base of her tunic and cut away a small loop of cloth before sheathing the dagger. Her intent was to bind her injured fingers. When she had completed her task, Kizea quickly ran towards the cliff.  
  
"Come!" Kizea ordered, "We must find Valnin, for he may be gravely wounded."  
  
"But what of the Stone of Anor?" Aldunen asked with a tone of desperation in her voice.  
  
Kizea shot a menacing gaze at her subordinate. The very look caused Aldunen to fall to her knees and bow her head.  
  
"Forgive me, master!" Aldunen cried, "But the stone! We must find the stone! Over all else!"  
  
Kizea's anger suddenly softened and she walked quietly up to her companion.  
  
"Aldunen, look at me," Kizea said. The girl gazed up.  
  
"The stone is safe for the moment, for an eagle has taken it away from the very clutches of the traitor. I do not know where our search will lead us, but I promise you, the Stone of Anor will guide us to it. This only means we will search a while longer. But Valnin needs us NOW. Let us go to him."  
  
Aldunen nodded slightly, and the three women began the long and dangerous climb down the cliff face. They descended into the mist of the waterfall. Their clothes became heavy-laden with water, and each step became more perilous than the previous. Kizea did not look down purposely, for in her heart she knew the outcome of their search already. In her heart, she was well aware the results of an unprepared fall onto jagged rock. Fifteen feet from the base, she could bear it no more. She held onto a short rim of a ledge, and stretched herself outward. Below her, and some 10 feet further out, lay her brother; face down in the mud, unmoving. Pursing her lips, Kizea let go of the ledge and somersaulted to the ground, her feet sinking deep into the soft embankment.  
  
She quickly made her way over to her half-brother, and knelt beside him. When she gently turned him over, several bloodied puncture wounds became plainly visible in his chest. His arm and left leg were badly broken, yet there was little bleeding. Kizea bent her head low, fighting back tears. She could hear Ishil and Aldunen approach from behind. Kizea outstretched her arm and motioned for them to stop. She could not allow them to see her weeping. Bending over his lifeless head, Kizea whispered.  
  
"My fairest brother. This will not be your end. I will recover the Stone of Anor and with it bring you to life again, as you did me. Rest awhile, my brother, and let me tend to the happy task of exacting vengeance upon she who would betray us both. I'll not rest until Melune is dead. I swear a Fendowan oath to you, I will find a way."  
  
Steeling herself, Kizea rose up and shot a hardened look and the only two loyal Fendowan left to her. Neither Ishil or Aldunen dared speak, but they waited, and watched with some amazement as Kizea took one of her own daggers and brought it to her own face. Expertly, the warrior began to pry loose several pearls and other gems from one side of her decorated mask. Kizea stepped forward to Ishil and held out her hand expectantly.  
  
Ishil glanced sideways at Aldunen, who seemed to offer no explanation of this new odd behavior. She tentatively opened her hand, and Kizea immediately dropped the small treasure into it.  
  
"Valnin is dead," Kizea said, "I charge you both with the task of bearing his body away to distant village in Tuluth. There is a tavern on one side of the village. See the old man, and instruct him to mind to Valnin's body until such a time as I come to retrieve him myself. Give him my offering. Tell him there shall be an additional reward to him for his measure of service. Then you both must make your way back to the compound, on the chance that Melune and her followers will return there with the stone and entrench themselves. I will follow the course of the eagle myself, and if luck holds to us, reclaim the stone as I can."  
  
"But master," Ishil implored, bowing her head. Kizea's hardened gaze fell upon the girl, and she cut short her discourse. With a tiny hand upon Aldunen's shoulder, Kizea continued.  
  
"I am placing Valnin's future upon your shoulders," Kizea said softly. Her eyes drifted over to Ishil, who was hinging upon Kizea's every word with the utmost attention, "This is no small feat I charge you with. If Melune should return to Ryalan, you will be the only ones left to take back what has been stolen. But I MUST pursue the eagle's course. I must assume that the flame of Anor will not soon find its return to Goldorma. And mind you, take great care of Valnin, for once the stone is recovered it may return him to a Fendowan's life. Be cautious with whom you speak, and say only what I have told you. Melune has allied herself with the darker powers of Middle-Earth, or she would not have orcs as her servants. And the dark powers have many spies in their attendance. They must believe we are all dead or dispersed now. Surprise remains our only hope."  
  
The two women knelt to one knee in solemnity before Kizea and at once set to preparing for the arduous task of transporting Valnin's body to the broken city of Tuluth. Neither questioned Kizea's choice, but in her describing the tavern, both knew that Kizea or Valnin must have had some previous associations there. It was well known that when a living being became servant of the Stone of Anor, neither mind nor memories were clearly wiped away. Rather, the stone's protection became the only undying purpose for a Fendowan warrior.  
  
For Kizea, however, who had been resurrected, it was different. Her mind, being cleared of all thoughts in death, arose once again with no knowledge or feelings of her past. Kizea knew that Tuluth was Valnin's former home, before the city was sacked 10 years previous. On rare occasions, he would relate memories to Kizea, who until that moment in time, was not the least interested in such trivialities. Now, she saw it as a sanctuary for her brother's body. And it was her hope there would be some people left in the town who would remember him or her, and take to his keeping. Valnin had once mentioned the innkeeper as being a friend to their family, and a poor, but amiable man. Pressed for time, Kizea felt that he represented Valnin's best chance. She bid her companions goodbye, and bowed to them, and bade them to be vigilant in their grave duty. Both Ishil and Aldunen bowed in turn, and swore to adhere to their task unto their own deaths.  
  
Now, unencumbered with Valnin's care, Kizea's thoughts grew grim and resolute as she made her way to the East. The eagle had flown to the greater Anduin valley with the Stone of Anor in its talons, and Kizea was well aware that Melune would also be searching for the great bird. Kizea was determined to retrieve the stone at all costs before Melune found her way to it. And then, with the stone in her possession, she would find a way to defeat Melune and restore her brother.  
  
Kizea walked the lonesome winding trails through the foothills for two more days, choosing the steepest cliffs and most dangerous ledges in an effort to gain some advantage in distance traveled over Melune and the others. At last, the great width and breath of the Anduin valley lay spread out before her. As the downward drafts of gentle mountain breezes tugged at her tunic, Kizea felt a sense of hopelessness to the entire ordeal. Tracking an animal or a person who left the smallest bit of evidence behind as to their direction was relatively easy. Tracking a bird in flight was entirely another. It was a daunting task. She gazed at the sky around her, seeing nothing. The light of day was waning in the sky, and Kizea sighed at the thought of further pursuit that night. In the end, she decided to climb to the pinnacle of a grand, broad-leafed tree that seemed oddly out of place for its location, to rest for the night. She pulled herself close to the trunk at the tree's uppermost branches and looked out once more over the empty skyline, and she fell into a fitful sleep.  
  
Sometime later, she awoke lazily as a stray Mallorn branch gently touched her face over and over in the night breeze. At first, Kizea thought it was an animal, but upon seeing the branch, she smiled and gently moved it to one side. It was as though the tree was chiding her for using it as a bed for the night. But when she extended the tiny branch out, her eye caught sight of a faint below some twenty feet below. Almost at once, she smelled the smoke of a fire and the faint whisperings of a chant. Her blood ran cold as she knew it could only be Melune. Shifting herself slightly to the left for a better view, Kizea sat rigidly watching her. Kizea thought to drop out of the tree and fight, but to what end? Kizea knew there were others in Melune's company, and an unforeseen hesitation once again held her back. Better to find out what Melune was doing. Almost as these thoughts entered Kizea's mind, Melune suddenly stood up, looking wildly around. Kizea froze.  
  
An orc suddenly lumbered into the camp from the darkness, and Melune immediately berated it for disturbing her. The orc, agitated and regretful, retreated back into the nothingness. Returning to her seat, Melune began repeating her chant once more. The campfire took on a strange blackening hue from its center, and the growing flames licked at the lowest branches of the tree. Kizea frowned as she realized that Melune was conjuring something, although she did not know what. Kizea never actually saw anything materialize, but what she could not see, Melune did. And for the first time in her life, Kizea saw Melune bow on her hands and knees as a servant would before its master. Then the voice spoke, and it sent a chill so violent through Kizea that she felt she might fall out of the tree. It was far more menacing and evil than any voice Kizea had ever heard, and in her heart she knew that Melune had laid herself subject to the most evil being in Middle-Earth, Sauron.  
  
"Why have you not procured my prize?" the voice demanded.  
  
"The eagle Gwaihir has taken it," Melune replied in a low, angry voice, "I call upon you to help me secure it once again."  
  
"Help you? You have failed your task, and you request my favor? The power of Anor has made you weak, underling! Perhaps the other of the Fendowan may serve me better. What of them?"  
  
"Those that did not join me are dead," she replied, "I am your strongest, mighty Sauron. And I WILL deliver the Stone of Anor into your hands. I only need to know where it has gone." The voice remained silent for a moment.  
  
"Seek out the wizard," the voice hissed again, "Go to the East and into dense Mirkwood and find the wizard in the elf king's keep. The eagle brings the Anor stone to him. The stone must be recovered before the eagle sets it into the wizard's hand!"  
  
"As you command, Master. But when I have reclaimed it, and brought forth your legions to Middle-Earth, where then shall I stand? What will be your reward to me?" A great shaking of the ground began, and the fire roared high into the night sky. Kizea's grip on the tree trunk tightened slightly.  
  
"All I ask master is to serve you!" Melune shouted quickly, "But for my unending obedience. For my delivering Middle-Earth itself into your grip and making all its inhabitants your slaves, what for me? I am well aware that the king of the world has many generals. Who will lead your armies to cover Middle-Earth?"  
  
The fire seemed to wane, and it grew small to its previous height, and Kizea fought to prevent herself from shaking. Another long moment passed, and then the voice returned, calmer, almost amused at Melune's audacity.  
  
"Retrieve the Stone of Anor and resurrect all my armies since the cursed last alliance. When all I have commanded is done, the mightiest of all these armies shall be yours."  
  
Melune sat speechless for a moment, attempting to stifle the giddiness of Sauron's offer. Then she grew grim once more and seemed to suddenly comprehend another difficulty.  
  
"Rakal. The vilest of your generals, second only to me. When the great Rakal is returned into being with the other hundreds of thousands, surely he will object to my taking his vast armies for my own. And when I have killed him once again, master, I will suffer no revenge from you?"  
  
"The Stone of Anor will be mine. Bring back the stone to me, and you shall be my general in Middle-Earth," the voice croaked, "Fail me again and I will leave your punishment to Rakal's choosing."  
  
Melune inexplicably shuddered, then bowed low once more. The fire instantaneously burned a bright orange and all the forest seemed normal once more. Melune stood up, quiet for some minutes. Then she cried out to the darkness. Almost at once, 5 orcs from all angles began to penetrate the firelight. Sasgal and Tragora stepped up also, bending upon one knee before their master. Kizea could not see the others, but she knew they were there, waiting beyond the reach of the firelight.  
  
"We leave at once for Mirkwood!" Melune barked. A great flurry of activity proceeded and Kizea remained frozen atop the tree branch, barely breathing. She had not perceived in her darkest thoughts that Melune would ever be subservient to another, much less Sauron. Until this moment, Kizea's unending mission was only to protect the Stone of Anor against lowly mortals and would-be thieves. For the mythical gem to fall into the hands of the most evil force in all existence would be more disastrous than anyone's comprehension.  
  
Unwilling to risk Melune's sudden return to that area, Kizea remained rigid in the tree long after Melune and the others left. Finally, when the dawn was just beginning to rise over the east, she decided to descend the tree and continue the journey. A chill sped through her as she climbed slowly down the tree. As Kizea stood silently before the final remaining embers of Melune's fire, the entire gravity of the situation unraveled before her. Kizea began her trek once again, this time with a darker purpose and urgency, and she began to run. Onto the open plain of the Anduin Kizea sprinted, and she set her course to the East, where the mysterious woodlands of Mirkwood lay, the dense, dank forest of the Northern elves, home to King Thranduil.  
  
"Mirkwood is no place for men folk," Valnin had once told her, "The elves, fair in visage, are hard in temperament. They brook no trespasser to their territories, and are exceedingly hard to find at all, but when they need the help of men to benefit their own ends. That we should never venture into that gloomy woodland is a blessing in disguise for us. I would much rather face the thousand stair than steer into that lonely wasteland."  
  
"Then it is to Mirkwood I must go," she thought as she ran, "For Valnin, and the stone, I must find the elves. They will help me. They must."  
  
Over the course of the next few days, she rested little, and ate sparingly from the berries and roots that the earth offered up to her in her passing. Kizea steered clear of every village, but after several days afoot, her body began to tire and her fierce will began to wane. She needed another way.  
  
On a bright, clear morning, a peasant farmer made his way to his stable. Scratching his chest, he stumbled to begin a day of work after a long night of drinking. Upon opening the door, though, he was shocked to find his mare missing. He cursed loudly, still half intoxicated and ran outside, thinking a prank had been played upon him, but his mare was nowhere to be seen. Muttering of his misfortune, the farmer began to close the barn door when he stopped short and blinked. In the sunshine he imagined he saw a gleam from the corner of his eye, near his horse's stall. He stepped closer. Suddenly he realized the glimmer was two shimmering emeralds and a pearl, placed gently upon an upturned bucket, refracting a ray of sunlight. It was a fortune for the man; enough recompense to buy several horses and another week's worth of ale from the tavern, or perhaps even more. The man looked around the area one last time before roughly shoving the stones in his pocket, and with a smile he left the barn, walking fast towards the village marketplace.  
  
At that same moment, far out on the plain, Kizea raced towards Mirkwood on her new mount. The mare joyously ran, being unharnessed and unbridled for the first time in years. They proceeded northeast for a time, stopping only for short rests. The horse would happily graze on high grass and Kizea would pick berries and root vegetables. Though their time together was short, Kizea liked the horse, and she rather fancied the horse to liking her. The Fendowan's new companion followed her about as a shadow would, never wandering far from Kizea's friendly hand. But Kizea knew the partnership would not be long-lived. Even as they came upon the borders of Mirkwood forest, the mare reared and refused to carry Kizea any further.  
  
Finally dismounting, Kizea gazed at her companion, patting the horse's soft muzzle. She dipped her hand into her pocket one final time and fed the animal her last two wild carrots.  
  
"I do not hold this against you," Kizea said tenderly, "I would not attempt it either, if I was not compelled. But my business takes me into the wood, while yours does not. You are a free animal now. Go to the plains and graze wild from now on. Good luck my friend."  
  
Kizea turned and began to walk to the outer rim of the forest, only to be stopped short. The mare had grabbed her tunic in her teeth, and was pulling the girl backwards. Almost stumbling back, Kizea laughed and petted her once again, and reassured the horse that she would be quite all right. Then she proceeded into the wood, more concerned now simply because of the mare's behavior. But she saw nothing to give her any alarm. All seemed quiet and the dense forest even reminded her of the Ryalan woodlands on the Fendowan mountain. The woods were more to Kizea's liking. The cool, musty smells within the elven woodlands were a stark contrast to the hot, dry plains in the Anduin. Several days passed by as Kizea pushed northward, and still she found no sign of the elves or the eagle.  
  
One night, as she sat next to a large tree, huddled tightly against the chill of the night, Kizea heard a slight crack of a branch. She stood up at once, but heard nothing more. However, she decided to investigate the noise anyway. Pulling herself up the nearest tree, Kizea scanned the area beneath her. If the elves were nearby, she did not wish to disturb them straightaway. She wanted to observe the elusive Mirkwood elves first and determine what she was dealing with. What Kizea found was quite different.  
  
Peering through a canopy of branches, Kizea looked to the forest floor, but could perceive no movement. Another crack of a branch directly above her made her jerk back. Almost at once, she was covered with a sticky, sinewy silk. Kizea cried out in surprise, her arms pinned hopelessly against her sides. Kizea immediately began to work her arms to free them. From somewhere above in Kizea's tree, a grotesque, black spider, pulled upwards on her web with immense, powerful legs. Kizea's arms instantly clung tighter to her side. She could now barely move at all. Horrified, the girl jumped off the branch in an attempt to escape, only to be upheld by the long strand of silk that secured her.  
  
"A delicious meal!" Kizea heard a voice say gleefully.  
  
"I wonder if there are others?" said another.  
  
"Save some for me!" said still another.  
  
Dangling upside down, Kizea was slowly hauled upward once more to the tree branch towards the spider. Fighting and wrenching her wrist, Kizea finally managed to pull free one of her daggers. At the very moment when the spider held Kizea up with its two front legs, readying for a killing bite, Kizea cut through the silk webbing that bound her and she drove her dagger directly into the creature's gaping jaws. Screeching in pain, the giant spider lowered its legs, but still maintained its iron grip on the girl. Undaunted, it began to raise Kizea up again, for another attack.  
  
"You've not had enough of your meal then?" Kizea cried out angrily. Slicing hard across and then downward, she cut clean through one of the legs that held her, and she dropped to the forest floor. Almost as soon as Kizea landed to the ground, the spider, now headless, came crashing through the branches. It was dead.  
  
With her other arm freed at last, Kizea took a defensive stance against the remaining spiders who hissed and wailed in the trees. Raising one dagger to the sky, and the other in front of her, she issued a challenge to those that remained.  
  
"I am Kizea! Master and leader of the Fendowan! I wield the flame of Anor! Advance to me and die!"  
  
And as she spoke these words, a low hum began to emanate from her golden mask, and a bright light poured forth in all directions, illuminating the forest. Immediately more screeches resounded throughout the treetops.  
  
"A Fendowan! HERE!" one voice screamed.  
  
"Away! Away!" cried out another.  
  
The branches of the treetops bent downwards as Kizea's assailants scurried away. She stood for some moments, unmoving. Another sound, barely perceptible to her ears came from behind. Kizea whirled around and crossed her daggers in front of her. Two elven arrows instantly ricocheted off of the knives into the darkness.  
  
Kizea could feel the presence of the elves all around her, and estimated there to be 6 or more. She could also feel their arrows trained upon her. And for some unknown reason, Kizea began to feel more like a trapped animal than a distinguished visitor. She glanced quickly upward to the treetops where only moments earlier she had nearly become a spider's dinner. The nearest tree limb was too far away, and an immediate escape seemed futile.  
  
"Wait!" she cried, breathing hard, "I have come to see your king!"  
  
Tentatively, Kizea slowly lowered her daggers, and stood silent. From the darkness emerged several tall, glowing beings. All had arrows at the ready in their bows, menacingly pointed at Kizea from all angles. Two others, tall and grim came and stood before her. Kizea gazed with wonder at them. To her, Valnin had been totally correct. Hard and unmoving as they seemed in personality, their beauty and poise seemed unmatched. Her eyes settled on a silent one to her right. His bright blue eyes seemed to look through her. No fairer being had Kizea ever seen.  
  
"And why would a Fendowan journey all this way to visit our king?" asked one distrustfully.  
  
"My business is with only the king," Kizea replied with as much contempt, "Take me to him and I vow no harm shall come to you!"  
  
The elves glanced at each other, their eyes sparkling with slight amusement. The grim elf only stared at Kizea with animosity.  
  
"You are ambitious to believe the king shall grant an audience to one who shows such hatred for those creatures alive in his lands! I ask you again, what is your business here?"  
  
The elf glanced sideways at the dead spider lying on the cold ground. Kizea bristled.  
  
"If you believe me to be a Fendowan, then you know that I have journeyed from afar with a grave purpose! For once we are allied to the Stone of Anor, we may never leave the mountain of Goldorma. But such a bitter situation has arisen, that I am compelled to leave my homeland. I have most urgent business involving the wizard who is visiting your king! And should I fail in my task, all of Middle-Earth will fall under a dark veil of evil. That is as much as I can tell you."  
  
With lightening speed, Kizea twirled her daggers in her hands and sheathed them. The two tallish elves, stepped backwards and whispered to themselves as she waited. Tense moments dragged by for the girl, and she nervously looked around in search of more spiders. Finally, the two elves came forward once more and stood before her.  
  
"We have no quarrel with a being of the light," one elf said, "But you will not pass further into our realm. You come here not invited. We will take you to the borders of Mirkwood and there shall you leave our territory."  
  
Two more elves came up to her and grabbed her arms, each slipping a length of thin rope about her wrists and tying them tightly around her back. Then, shoved from behind, they began to walk forward. Desperate, Kizea turned suddenly, broke away and ran up to the elf with the intense blue eyes. Immediately her captors were upon her, attempting to drag her away. Realizing that she was losing perhaps her only chance to talk to the elven king, Kizea struggled hard, until the blue-eyed elf raised his hand and all movement stopped. Kizea was let go, and she angrily jerked her body away from one elf who kept a steady hand on her shoulder.  
  
She gazed into the elf's puzzled eyes and spoke with such a gentle, sweet voice that it shocked the him. He stared down at the girl, not able to look away. Kizea's voice had a sort of low, steady resonance to it that seemed to sweep him up within its grasp and hold him there.  
  
"You must listen to me. This is most important," Kizea pleaded quietly, "and we've not much time. I beg of you!"  
  
"Humph!" the other elf said sarcastically, "She lies! A Fendowan who would beg the aid of the elves! Let us turn her to the border Legolas, and be done with her! She has caused enough mischief already, and there will be much explaining to do as it is!"  
  
Humiliated, Kizea felt the elf raised a valid point. No Fendowan would ever be subject to an outsider, but she was desperate. To be turned away now would result in catastrophe for the world. The elf suddenly raised his hand again, and his companion fell silent.  
  
"No," he said still gazing at her, "She does not lie. I can see it in her eyes. Will you be blindfolded? For no stranger may enter the elven kingdom and see of its whereabouts."  
  
"Is it not enough that I am bound and debased before you?" she answered angrily. But the elf, Legolas said nothing and only stood silently before her, waiting expectantly. Kizea sighed.  
  
"Very well," she said in a low voice, "For the world is changing too quickly, and what once was can no longer be. The Fendowan must change as well if the world is to survive. I cannot tarry here, bartering for a Fendowan's pride. The world is in much peril, and indeed it may be too late already. I will allow you to blindfold me, but only you! No one else is to touch me!"  
  
An elf pulled a long swath of elven linen from a pack and handed it to Legolas. He did not smile or reassure Kizea as he tightened it over her mask. But when he took her arm, his touch seemed gentler than the others, and the group proceeded into the woods, this time in a new direction. 


	3. A Treasure for a Treasure

The group walked in silence for an immeasurable space of time, but even so, it did not seem so long to Kizea. The Fendowan felt that perhaps she had been nearer to the elven stronghold than she originally thought, for at her best guess, they had been walking but only an hour. At last the group stopped, and Legolas pulled on her arm, signaling for her to halt as well. There were more whispers and strange sounds, and the group proceeded forward once more. Kizea was marched across the stone bridge that crossed Forest River. A thin hand, not Legolas's, forcefully rested upon her shoulder, and she stopped short again. She jerked her shoulder, trying to wrench it free of the strange hand, but it held on tight, fingers biting into her shoulder. Without knowing it, Kizea now stood before the magical stone gate that heralded the entrance to the underground chambers and hallways, the very heart of the Mirkwood elven realm.  
  
Within this underground fortress was the elf-king, Thranduil. It was also Kizea's only hope of gaining information that would to lead her to the wizard or the stone. Of course, before now it never occurred to her that she would be anything less than welcome to the elves, being on a mission of such gravity.  
  
But Kizea was fast realizing they considered her with great suspicion, having come into their midst claiming to be a Fendowan. She might as well have called herself Galadriel. No one believed her. Kizea knew that she must be clever, but honest. Even now, Melune and her own Fendowan guard were probably upon her heels, and if they found her, Melune would know that she had not succeeded in obliterating them all. Kizea could feel a cold chill well up inside her. Her thoughts were wrenched back to the present as the ground on which she stood took to shaking, and Kizea could discern a great upheaval of granite slabs. Stepping backwards, the warrior bumped into the body of an elf, standing somberly behind her. Roughly, he pushed her away from him. Her feet spread apart instinctively to stay balanced. Then, almost as soon as it had begun, the shaking stopped and Kizea was prodded forward again. Her feet stepped cautiously, making sure that they would land on solid ground, and not into some endless chasm. Once inside the archway, her blindfold was removed, and Kizea gasped with wonder. An extensive carved hallway stood before them, lit on either side with torches for some distance. Beyond that, the hall disappeared to blackness where the scant light could not reach. In all her remembered existence, Kizea had never entered a cave that was lit by any kind of light other than the Anor stone. This light was different somehow. It was neither white nor brilliant. When one looked at the stone of Anor it was as one gazing into the too bright sunlight with one's hand covering one's eyes. This was more muted. Like staring lazily into a campfire late into the night, with the soothing smell of burning oak or pinewood surrounding the area. It was comforting, but strange.  
  
Deeper and deeper they marched into the tunnels, and Kizea's encompassing thoughts were not of what she would say once she stood before the king, but rather she remained in amazement of her surroundings. Kizea thought it odd for the elves to live thus, like the Dwarves in their massive caves. Valnin had often talked with her of the elves, having had some previous experience with them. But he had always disliked the other races, for whatever reasons of his own. Especially the elves, who were distrustful of the race of men and unwilling to provide aid to men except when need suited them. Her brother never ventured too far in these discussions with Kizea, only that she should never have dealings with them. She had died, Valnin told her, at the hands of the Rivendell elves, and through the Anor stone she was returned. But that never concerned her. Kizea's only thoughts were to retrieve the stone before Melune obtained it, and return Valnin to her side and serve the stone once again.  
  
As Legolas walked quickly in front of her, she moved her head so she could manage a better view of the scrolling on the hilts of his elven knives. It was fine work indeed. Although she would never admit it, she admired Legolas. He was a hardened warrior, like herself, but there was more to him than simply that. He was confident and wise almost to a fault, and seemingly not as haughty as the others. Having never seen an elf, Kizea was mildly surprised by their speed with a weapon, even rivaling her own. But to her they were overcautious and slow when hearing her demands, even when she relented and explained her urgency to see the King. But what Kizea could not understand was that having been secluded to her one duty, that is, protecting the Stone of Anor, she was simply unused to having her word questioned.  
  
It was an unintended insult that the warrior would have to endure over and over with the forest elves who were used to the same autonomy. When they arrived at last to the main chamber, Kizea was also surprised by the sheer size and depth of the king's throne room. She had spent long years enduring the tiny enclosure of the thousand stairs. Even in the blackness of the Fendowan cavern, the tiny spaces that she was expected to crawl through to stand guard at the sacred alter were enveloping. All she needed to do as she descended into the blackness was extend her arms slightly to feel the boundary of its icy walls. But here, in Mirkwood, the caverns were huge, with ceilings reaching up many times her height. Kizea gazed upwards in amazement at the tall pillars, hewn from the living rock, that held up the enormous weight of the ceiling. Wide, heavy tapestries lined the walls. Sleek silvery axes or elven swords bedecked the pillars, 8 feet above floor level, between lighted torches which created a reddish glow to the interior, reminding Kizea of the magnificent sunsets on the Fendowan mountain of Goldorma.  
  
At the far end of the room, green and purple carpets covered an elevated section of floor. Here sat the elven king upon an intricately carved wooden chair, already aware of Kizea's approach. The chair was bedecked with green and red stones that caught and refracted the torchlight with every movement of the Fendowan's eyes. Kizea took careful note of everything in the room, from the long wooden tables and benches to one side, to the weapons on the pillars, to the number of Mirkwood elves in the room. There were two other exits to the room, both guarded heavily. Two tall, stern-looking elves stood guard next to the King. An elf from behind placed a cold hand on Kizea's shoulder as they entered the throne room, and Kizea stopped and waited.  
  
Legolas walked forward, bowed to his father and spoke elvish to him. Then Legolas stood to the side and the king beckoned for Kizea to approach. She slowly and purposefully walked closer, and could feel the stares of the 20 elves that had filled the chamber by now. When she neared the throne, she once again felt a hand on her shoulder signaling her to stop. She stood silently before the king, waiting. But the elven lord said nothing, for he was waiting also. He was waiting for Kizea's acknowledgement. He had been told, prior to Kizea's arrival, that a Fendowan warrior was being brought to him. Now he looked at the slightly built girl standing before him, and thought to himself that she could no more be the stuff of elven fables and myth than could the dwarves. He looked at her up and down with a serious face. Legolas glanced at his father with some confusion, as though he was expecting his father to speak as well. This did not escape Kizea's notice.  
  
"I ask no forgiveness of my manners," Kizea said at last as she gazed at the elf lord, "The Fendowan are sworn to bow to no King."  
  
A low murmur rose up in the room, but Thranduil raised a hand and the room quickly hushed. Elves looked at the slight girl with renewed interest, for none had ever seen a Fendowan before.  
  
"I have heard the tales of Fendowan oaths," he replied at last, "My son tells me you have sought me out for reasons which you would not disclose, and he has honored you by respecting your requests. But tell me first, the Fendowan are also sworn to never leave the woodlands of Ryalan. So either you are not whom you say, or you have broken your oath, which I find quite impossible. How can you explain this to me?"  
  
Kizea's head bowed slightly as she remembered all that transpired over the last several weeks.  
  
"I would tell you that I was forced to leave the comfort of my homelands because of a great treachery, which, if left unchecked, will engulf all the world, and your own realm with it. Believe me, I have broken no oath in coming here. It is with grave urgency that I would stand before you now, and if you do not help me, King of the elves, then all of Middle-Earth will suffer the consequence of your refusal! I believe you or the wizard who is visiting these lands have something that belongs to the Fendowan."  
  
Thranduil's gaze tightened on her.  
  
"What could the elves possess that a Fendowan of the highest realm would desire?" he asked.  
  
"The Anor stone has been stolen from the golden alter at Goldorma. I know that Gwaihir the Windlord has the stone and that he has brought it to Mirkwood in search of a wizard who is here. If the Stone of Anor is here, I would ask you to return it to me, so that I might return to its rightful place. And then I will leave you and your kind in peace."  
  
Lowered whispers spread throughout the room again.  
  
"Are not the Fendowan the guardians of the fabled stone?" the king asked.  
  
"They are." she replied.  
  
"And you have lost it by your own admission."  
  
"We have lost it by treachery, King of Mirkwood. Not through fault of my own."  
  
"And of what treachery do you refer? The Fendowan warriors are the only ones to know of the stone's location, is this not true?"  
  
"Our business is our own to know," Kizea replied stoically. More whispers resounded through the room. Kizea found it almost unsettling; she was not used to having her will questioned.  
  
"I am here to retrieve the stone, that is all."  
  
The King sat back in his chair for a moment and gazed at Kizea. He could not detect any lies in her demeanor. Still, he thought to test her.  
  
"The stone is not here," he said after a long pause, "But I think that if warriors of the greatest renown cannot keep it safe, then perhaps the elves may. If the myths are to be believed, then the Anor Stone was once an Elven stone, akin to the Silmarils, and might then best be guarded in our own elvenhome. I have always thought that if it truly existed, the Stone of Anor should belong to us."  
  
Kizea stood rigid, she had not expected this reply. She glanced briefly at Legolas whose stare was fixed upon her, and suddenly she felt her stomach twinge. His presence unnerved her, and she wasn't sure why. Before her mind strayed too far, she focused her attentions back to the elven king.  
  
"You do not know what you are saying." she began, "The Stone belongs to no one. We belong to it. And you cannot possibly protect it here, in this huge place. I know the elves to be a noble and honorable race. Still, you are not aware of the great peril on which Middle-Earth sits with the stone in the wilds now. I must find it without delay. Since you have heard the Fendowan lore, I am sure you are also aware that we are oath bound to perish before seeing the stone in the hands of any other. My quest is absolute and my mind cannot be dissuaded. I have no desire in my heart to cause pain to any noble elf of this world, but I must fight to the death any being that would keep me from my quest. I can only tell you that the stone is safest in our hands. But perhaps, if you are keen have a new treasure to add to your legendary trove, I will trade you for it."  
  
"Trade?" the king replied almost laughing, "What could a Fendowan possess that is worth more than the fabled Stone of Anor? Long has it been said that the Fendowan are the only race that might keep the stone safe from all evil. Your journey here proves of your determination, warrior maiden. Neither would I have a desire to bring harm to such a mythical creature as yourself. There are not 10 of you in all of Middle-Earth. Is this not so? And I find it difficult to understand how a Fendowan journeys from afar and graces us with her presence, yet, not easily do strangers come into our woodlands and live. And here I am told you have traveled alone within Mirkwood for three. It is also said there exists no greater warrior than one who carries the stone's light with them and wields the flame in battle. It is said, within the stone's power, there is no death. But the elves would think little of this grace, for we ourselves are immortal. If I were to concede to you, that you are who you say, and that you are the only rightful keeper of the Anor stone, what would you give me in return for my help in its recovery?"  
  
Kizea pondered the king's statement for a moment. He knew how long she had been in the woodlands. And then a new thought dawned on her. For him to know, the others must have informed him. Since the day she had set foot into Mirkwood, they had been tracking her, and without her knowledge. Perhaps the elves were not as trifling a race as she was led to believe.  
  
"As I have told you, the stone was taken from us. I ventured away from my familiar surroundings to recover what should never have left. And it is imperative that I recover it. As for what I would give in return, I do not have command of a thousand treasure troves as you do, but I have enough. Would it not be better to have a mighty treasure in your hand here and now, King Thranduil, and know that you have returned the stone to its rightful keeper, than to possess the sacred stone and know that you have brought the world to its ruin in the keeping of it?" Kizea asked.  
  
The masked warrior then dipped a tiny hand into her right pocket. Instantly 10 elves about the room drew up their bows. Their arrows were fixed upon the small girl. She stopped all movement, looked around the room, and continued delving into her pocket, but slower. After pulling her hand out, she opened her fist to reveal a handful of sparkling emeralds and pearls. The king sat up at once when he saw what Kizea held in her hand. Walking cautiously up to the throne, she laid the jewels at the King's feet and backed away. She could hear several bows being pulled taught as she approached, and thought how she might dodge one if an elf behind her deemed her as TOO close. Even Legolas had drawn a long, glowing elven knife from its sheath, and he stood at the ready. Thranduil looked down at the large gems and gazed back at Kizea.  
  
"This IS a treasure," Thranduil said thoughtfully as he bent down to pick up the sparkling stones, "But what if it is not enough?"  
  
"What more would you have?" she asked, greatly puzzled.  
  
Before he could answer, a tall, sleek elf ran into the room, and his attentions were suddenly diverted. The elf brushed by Kizea with hardly a sideways glance, bowed before the elven king and stepped up to the throne. The king leaned forward as the elf whispered to him. The king's glance shot upwards to Kizea before he motioned for Legolas and Kerrinais to escort her to a corner of the chamber. Something was obviously happening, and the girl glanced over at the door from where the elf had appeared, but she saw nothing. Flanked by the two elf guards, she walked calmly to a long rectangular table, and sat on the bench. Legolas stood on one side, and Kerrinais stood on the other. Through the firelight, Kizea saw several figures being escorted into the room. Her hands clenched as she realized it was Melune and the others. But Melune did not see Kizea straightaway. Her cold eyes were fixed on the elven king, and Kizea was sitting in a darkened recess of the room.  
  
Melune stopped short of the elven king's chair and, to Kizea's utter amazement, the Fendowan warrior bowed low before him; the two warriors who stood in back of her followed suit. The king placed a hand on his chest and extended it towards Melune in a gesture of friendship. He neither looked at Kizea, nor let any emotion escape from his face.  
  
"Oh mighty King Thranduil!" Melune began, "I have come here today to beg the help of the noble and great elven king of Mirkwood!"  
  
The elf king leaned forward on his throne as if trying to peer through her mask. He blinked several times, and then sat back into his seat.  
  
"It seems I am recipient of much famous company this day," he began slowly, "Tell me what help would you seek of the elves?"  
  
"I seek the stolen Stone of Anor, and I seek to bring to justice she who would use the stone for her own evil purpose!"  
  
Her words echoed within the chamber. Somehow, Melune knew that Kizea was alive.  
  
"For whom do you seek?" he asked somberly. Melune and the others stood erect.  
  
"I seek a Fendowan impersonator!" Melune said in a loud voice for all to hear, "One who would obtain the Stone of Anor for her own evil purpose! She is come here to seek your hand in friendship, but do not give it to her! In allying yourself to her, I would be forced to kill the elves as well as she! The stone must be returned to the Fendowan stronghold, or the world will fall!"  
  
Another murmur welled up inside the hall. Melune had very little contact with the elves in her long life, and she was not fully aware of the impact of her boastful statement. To the elven king, it was a ludicrous notion that three women might defeat 25 elves at once, 10 of them with bow and arrow fixed upon the visitors. Still, he was not sure. So little was actually known for fact about the Fendowan. What if they were all great sorceresses? Kizea was taken aback. Somehow or other, Melune had found out she survived the battle with the orc on the cliff.  
  
"I am not in the habit of protecting criminals," he said solemnly, "And how am I to know that you are not lying to me now? I can see nothing but blackness in your eyes."  
  
Underneath her mask, a smile came to Melune's face, and her eyes began to sparkle.  
  
"A test! Yes! Is it not said there is no greater warrior in the world than a Fendowan warrior? Let me choose of your elf soldiers here, King Thranduil, and I will defeat him with but my two meager daggers. He may choose whatever weapon he prefers, even unto a drawn bow and arrow. If I am lying of my identity, I will be dead."  
  
Calmly sitting in the corner, Kizea was intently listening to Melune's discourse. Melune was, of course, attempting to discredit her, which was not a difficult task. The king seemed to believe neither of them. Still, Melune's challenge sent up a well of fear inside her. Kizea knew that Melune's skill and accuracy with a knife was beyond anyone in the room, perhaps even her own. The elves, quick and fierce, were no match for her. Yet, she could say nothing; betray nothing.  
  
The elven king pondered this challenge for a moment before nodding to her, and Melune stood up and began to saunter across the room to where several elves stood with bow and arrow primed for a target. But Melune had glanced to the shadows and saw a slight sparkle emanating from the dark recesses of the corner, and this peaked her interest. Kizea heart began to beat faster as Melune approached her. She stood in front of Kizea at last, cocking her head one way and then the other, before she spoke in a an almost jovial voice.  
  
To the elves, however, she spoke in a slurred tongue, one in which they were not familiar, yet wonderful to listen to. It was akin to lying back on the mossy bank of a stream and closing one's eyes while hearing a babbling brook. Melune's powers were beginning to bring themselves to bear more and more.  
  
"Ah! You have finished the race before me Kizea! Were the spiders of the wood not a welcome diversion from the confines of that dank and dingy cellar we were forced to live in day after day? Did you not have as great a sport as we?"  
  
Legolas gazed at Melune's small stature. She seemed so harmless, yet somehow she unnerved him. Kizea sat rigid and silent. Melune turned around and looked back across the room. All eyes were on her, and she reveled in the attention. Then the masked woman turned back to Kizea.  
  
"Come, come," Melune smiled, "Surely you have discovered your other powers by now. These lower beings cannot understand us if we do not wish it. You have not forgotten your tongue, I hope, old friend. Still, I can see you admire these insignificant woodland folk. Your choice of company has not improved overmuch since our last meeting." Melune eyed Legolas and Kerrinais. Then she pretended to look further around the room.  
  
"But wait!" Melune grinned, "Is there no one else here with you? Did Valnin not survive the fall? What a pity, I had so hoped to see him again, at least!"  
  
At this taunt, Kizea stood bolt upright. Immediately, Kerrinais placed a strong arm in front of Kizea. Although King Thranduil did not understand the women's discourse, his eyes darted to the two remaining Fendowan warriors before him. When Kizea rose to her feet, they dropped to their knees and bowed their heads in reverence. This baffled the king, and he looked back at Kizea with renewed interest.  
  
"Fiend!" Kizea cried as she strained against Kerrinais's arm, "I would cut your black heart from you, given the chance. Hear me, Melune, no oath or force of the Dark Lord will save you!"  
  
Melune laughed and brought herself closer to the girl.  
  
"Do not blame ME," she cooed, "It was not I who was left to the boy's charge! But I am forgetting my business at hand! Which elf will I dispose of first Kizea? Which one of these pitiful creatures suits you the most?"  
  
She looked up and her black eyes rested upon Legolas. He gazed back at her with a somber face, his arms to his sides. He could retrieve his own elven dagger in an instant, and yet Melune seemed not the least bit concerned.  
  
"Ah! This handsomish, tall one here!" Melune grinned evilly, "He suits you well, does he not? Your energies are the same; I can feel it. I shall kill him first! He shall be my challenge!"  
  
Melune took a single step towards Legolas, and he leaped backwards in a defensive stance.  
  
"Be not afraid great warrior-elf," Melune purred as she took another step towards him, "If you prevail against me, the stone and all my followers will be yours to do with as you will. It is the law. Think of it. Treasure and power beyond all imagination awaits you if you can overpower me for an instant. Surely an ancient being such as you can win against such an insignificant girl. You need only touch the hilt of my dagger and accept my challenge."  
  
Her words were soft and musical, and suddenly Legolas found himself inexplicably walking towards her, trapped within her mesmerizing gaze. His hand began to rise towards Melune's dagger when Kizea placed her hand on his extended arm. Almost at once he staggered backwards, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the effects of Melune's voice. He stared at Kizea with alarm in his eyes, but Kizea merely shook her head slightly.  
  
"NO Legolas," Kizea said as she gently pushed his arm back, "She would lull you into accepting a challenge which is not possible to win. This must be MY battle."  
  
Annoyed at first, Melune suddenly burst into laughter. She turned about and held the hilt of her golden dagger towards Kizea.  
  
"Yes!" she mused, "Fight with me Kizea! Win back the pride of the Fendowan for noble ill purpose! Return it to a tiny chamber deep inside a black pit, never to see the light of day again! Are we never to realize all of its capabilities? Can you not feel its power? What it is capable of? Are you not the least curious?"  
  
"I know what its power has done YOU," Kizea whispered. Melune shot a fierce gaze at her.  
  
Almost without Melune's realizing it, Kizea grabbed the dagger's hilt and yanked the sharp knife from Melune's hand, slicing her palm. But Melune neither cried out nor moved, she only lifted her hand to display the syrupy, blackened blood dripping down her hand. Kerrinais jumped back in a defensive stance at the sight of it. Only Orcs and things of evil bled black. Still, it was rumored that the guardians of the great stone were not always of the light. Kerrinais did not know what to think.  
  
"I will accept your challenge, demon," Kizea said as her hand trembled in fury.  
  
Melune truly had not much of a wish to battle with Kizea. Her all- encompassing thoughts were to the Anor stone's location, and she did not want to waste her time and energy with one wayward Fendowan. Still Kizea was there and had to be dealt with somehow. Through their conceit of superiority, neither Melune nor Kizea were initially concerned of the 75 or so elves that now packed into the chamber. But as Melune suddenly looked up and about the room, she realized that the elf numbers were progressively increasing, and her escape back to the forest with the stone's whereabouts was now at stake. And so Melune thought to use Kizea to aid in that escape in whatever way she could. She walked in closer to her rival and let her aggressive voice die down to yet another musical and lower level, one in which even Kizea could become entrapped. Melune, being a servant of evil, was supremely arrogant of herself. She was sure that no one, not even the legendary Kizea, could ultimately oppose her.  
  
"There is no need for you to fight me, mighty Kizea. We are of the same bolt of cloth, you and I," Melune said sweetly, "We would both see the stone back to Goldorma when we are done with it! The stone has chosen us and no other can possess it. We know this for the truth. The stone would have us do what we will with it. Join me and we shall have what we desire most in the world! Would you like this elf as your slave? I will make him yours! His will is weak and he may yet be yours if you desire it. Say but a word of solace to me. Come! I would see you bathed in treasure with all these abhorrent creatures at your feet! With the Stone of Anor, you can be a queen of all the elves in Middle-Earth!"  
  
No elf in the room yet understood Melune's discourse. Her voice was low and flowing, and several elves even stepped closer to hear it, but none understood it. Kizea stepped forward and threw down the dagger hard at Melune's feet. It clanged on the floor and the sound of it reverberated throughout the room. Melune jumped back several steps while raising her arms in a defensive stance, as though she was awakened from the throws of her own spell. Several elves looked around the chamber as though they did not know where they were. In Melune's attempt to enlist Kizea to her side, she was placing all the room under a cloak of confusion.  
  
"Pick it up, Melune!" Kizea cried with hatred in her voice. "Your enchantments cannot work on ME!"  
  
Several elves, including Legolas and Kerrinais now could plainly understand Kizea, and they were shocked at the intensity of anger in her voice.  
  
"You've seen your last of the Stone of Anor!" Kizea cried, seething with fury, "And here you shall die! Never has a monster existed that was more deserving!"  
  
Melune frowned. Bending down slowly, purposefully, she took back her dagger that Kizea had thrown to the floor. Then rising, she took an assessment of Kizea's ripped clothing and her bruised body. The demon caught sight of Kizea's injured right hand and she smiled.  
  
"I do not think so." she whispered in a low, menacing voice. Then turning around, she approached King Thranduil once more.  
  
"My challenge is accepted, great king!" Melune said loudly for all to hear, "What better way to show you my honorable intentions than to vanquish the very harbinger of evil that I seek before your very eyes?"  
  
All attentions were now on King Thranduil. Despite Melune's callous speeches to Kizea, the king was neither afraid nor angered. For he did not yet comprehend all that had transpired. Even Legolas and Kerrinais did not hear the entirety of it, and they stood baffled at their lack of understanding. After a moment, King Thranduil nodded to Melune, who then turned and waved a hand at the others, who quickly moved away to a far recess of the room. Looking around the room nervously, Kizea took her cue and began to walk to the center of the room where Melune waited. For reasons unknown, Legolas extended his hand and touched Kizea's shoulder. She stopped and turned her head towards him.  
  
"Worry not for me, Legolas," Kizea said in almost a lighthearted manner, "I will be careful."  
  
Legolas's hand dropped to his side and he watched the girl approach the middle of the room. Several elves stepped backwards as they watched the two women come to the center of the room. Both stood an arms length from each other. Kizea turned her head to catch a last glimpse of Legolas in the dark corner as she instantly drew both of her golden daggers from their sheaths. With one arm outstretched to the ceiling, Kizea outstretched her other arm, pointing her dagger directly at Melune's throat. Melune did likewise with her own dagger pointing at Kizea, her black eyes twinkling behind her shining, golden mask. Then each warrior shouted,  
  
"Alia Aya Ungala Anor! (For the light of Anor!)." And thus the battle began.  
  
Immediately upon finishing the phrase, Melune lunged forward slashing both daggers savagely at Kizea's upper torso and head. And with each attack, Kizea countered with an upward block of her own daggers. The sounds of clanging metal and hard breathing echoed in the great hall as the women jousted about the room, tipping over chairs and causing the elves to jump quickly aside in all directions to stay out of their path. At length, Kizea saw a brief opening as they parried back and forth and swept her outstretched dagger before Melune. It was so fast that the very air seemed to be cut in two. Melune quickly ducked her head and the dagger missed her. Almost laughing, Melune clenched her fist hard around her dagger, and punched Kizea squarely in the chest. The girl staggered backwards and rested against a large pillar.  
  
Legolas thought that Kizea's moment had come as she sat dazed against the hardened stone. He took a step forward, but Kerrinais was at once beside him, holding him back. It was more of curiosity, than concern for his friend. Kerrinais wished to see the duel played out, and he did not want Legolas tipping the scales. But Legolas was growing alarmed at the unfolding scenario. But there was little he could do but watch and wait. King Thranduil and the other elves were enjoying the fight with much interest also. The swiftness and accuracy to which each blow was laid was astounding to the elf king. He had never seen a duel such as this before, even between two elves.  
  
As Kizea stood dazed, Melune perceived a new window of opportunity and threw one of her daggers hard at Kizea. She rolled away from the pillar just as the knife whizzed by her head, solidly wedging itself in the stone. As Melune gazed up the pillar, she saw the sparkling elven swords displayed there. Breaking away on a dead run towards the pillar, Melune leapt into the air, placing a foot on the single dagger that was embedded into the stone and used it as a step to reach an elven sword. She swished the remaining dagger in her hand twice. Then, back flipping off the pillar, she landed on her feet, newly armed with a long sword and her other dagger.  
  
Kizea looked around wildly for a moment, backing away. She knew that Melune had the advantage with the elven sword. Stepping back from the pillar, Kizea looked up the same pillar. There were three more elven swords hanging from thin leather straps. One conspicuous strap was still swaying where Melune had sliced it. With renewed speed, Kizea twirled her daggers around in her tiny hands, almost too fast for the eye to follow. When Melune saw Kizea doing this, she jumped backwards, crouching down and crossing her sword and dagger before her to thwart any attempt Kizea might make at throwing them. But instead, Kizea heaved her daggers with all her force to the pillar, letting out a small cry as she let them go. Each dagger neatly cut the leather strap of a hanging sword before wedging itself halfway into the stone. Instantly two swords fell from the pillar. Kizea caught one straightaway with her left hand, the other she kicked with her right foot. The sword flew back into the air, turning end over end, and Kizea immediately grasped the hilt of the second sword with her right hand. Thus newly armed, Kizea ran around the pillar, twirling the two swords as she advanced. This was not for show or to intimidate Melune. That would be an empty gesture. Kizea was merely assessing their weight, for she had never fought with elven arms before. She was quite surprised at how light they were to carry. In truth, the swords did not weigh much more than the shorter, Fendowan daggers.  
  
Leaping again to her feet, Melune drew back a sinewy, muscled arm and brought the elven sword she held down on Kizea, but Kizea blocked the attack with her own raised swords. The two women jumped and parried about the room once more, each renewed attack blocked or dodged. The clanging of the metal mixed with grunts and renewed cries of anger resonated throughout the throne room. At last, Kerrinais leaned over to Legolas.  
  
"They are evenly matched," he whispered, "I have never seen such skill in a woman. Not even our elven kindred can match them with a sword. They must both be Fendowans. This is truly a sight to behold."  
  
Legolas replied nothing. He watched them battle, anxiously awaiting the outcome. His thoughts were grim as he concentrated on the fight. He knew that something foreboding was taking place beyond a battle with masters of the knife, as the elves knew of them. To see one stray Fendowan in the elven territory was enough to elicit a nervous response within the elf. Now, with four in their ranks, Legolas's quiet reserve rose to alarm. He did not know enough of the Anor stone to realize what exactly it meant to have the gem removed from its alter. But elven lore was clearer concerning the legendary Fendowan order. More powerful than any elf warrior, wiser than any wizard, and sworn to their deaths to defend the light of Anor. That they should ALL leave the hidden mountain of Goldorma and come searching for the stone in Mirkwood hinted of some unseen catastrophe. Kizea's desperation had been obvious to him. He had seen Gandalf not a week before, but the wizard gave no hint of any misgivings. Still, the wizard appeared unexpectedly, and was in great haste to see the elven king. And Gandalf seldom appeared without an urgent need at hand. Legolas shuddered.  
  
Across the cold stone floor the two women fault with vehement hatred for one another, and they showed no signs of tiring. Finally, with one mighty thrust forward, Melune grabbed Kizea's arm as it drew in close to her. Melune pulled Kizea forward, wrenching one weapon from Kizea's grip, and simultaneously throwing her off balance. As Kizea flew past, Melune managed to hit Kizea squarely in her lower back. Kizea staggered forward, struggling to regain her footing. Then Melune rushed in, slamming her entire bodyweight against Kizea and the two sprawled onto the floor. With a muffled cry, Kizea's injured hand hit the stone floor hard and her grip loosened. Instantly, the remaining sword skipped ten feet across the floor with a mighty clang. Twisting her body, Kizea attempted to retrieve her sword, but it was out of her reach.  
  
She felt her rival bearing down on top of her. In another fraction of an instant, Melune was sitting on Kizea's chest. Her very weight seemed to take away the girl's breath. Flailing herself from side to side, Kizea fought vainly to throw Melune off, but her arms were pinned solidly under Melune's knees, and the battle seemed suddenly lost. Melune towered above her, breathing heavily. Her dagger was poised under Kizea's chin, one palm pressed against the hilt, ready to push the knife through her throat. A sudden hush fell over the entire room, as the elves waited for Melune to deal the final blow. But she did not kill Kizea. The women gazed at one another, and Melune suddenly became transfixed and unable to move. Even though she cried out in fury and leaned into the dagger, it would go no farther. An intense light glowed through Kizea's mask and seemed to produce an invisible barrier that Melune's knife could not penetrate. Melune, the sweat dripping from underneath her mask, was simply unable to move the dagger further.  
  
In the next moment, the sounds of stretching bows came to Melune's ears and her attentions were diverted back to the elves that had been watching the Fendowan battle. The two women were completely surrounded by elven archers, arrows drawn taught on their bows. In the background of the chamber, King Thranduil's arm was still raised high in the air. Melune gazed over the room that was now almost filled to capacity. The other Fendowan warriors were already gone, taken away without her even knowing it, such was the ferocity of the battle. The king had gained the upper hand for the time being. 


	4. Thorin's Cell

Melune was promptly yanked back by two elves who proceeded to tie her hands behind her back. Her weapons were passed along behind her, elf to elf, until they disappeared altogether in the mass of bodies that surrounded the two women. Melune muffled a cry, but made no other sound. Some of the elves jumped backwards with shocked eyes. Smoke was rising from where Melune's arms were bound; the elven rope was burning her arms. Several other elves rushed in and pulled Kizea to her feet in a similar manner. Without further word, Melune was pushed through the crowds of elves and taken away down a long, well-lit corridor at the furthest side of the chamber. As the lines were being tightened around her hands, Kizea looked up to see Legolas standing before her. A rope was also fastened around her neck. It seemed to him that she had a frightened look in her eyes, as a cornered animal might have, and he felt almost a sense of pity for her. He realized vaguely that Kizea had, in effect, saved him. Under Melune's spell, he could not have defeated her.  
  
From somewhere behind, Kizea felt herself being pushed roughly forward. An elf who he did not recognize came into her view. He yanked on the rope that was wound about her neck, and it tightened further. Kizea struggled for a breath and began to walk forward, following her captors. As she was led from the throne room, she glanced neither to the right nor the left. Still, Kizea could feel the eyes of the room following her every movement, and she felt a sense of relief when she entered the passageway. As they walked, Kizea could hear the distinct sounds of water trickling, and she suddenly felt thirsty. She had not had a rest or a drink since evading the spiders beyond the wood elf encampments, and she was tired. Further into the recesses of the elven stronghold she was brought. Listening to faint footfalls, Kizea estimated about 4 other elves followed behind her, probably armed. She thought for a moment how she might escape, but it seemed impossible. Physically exhausted and bereft of her weapons, she had little with which to defend herself. Even if she were to manage to undo the elven ropes that tied her wrists together, she would have to retreat back the way she came, and then there was the matter of the main gates, which opened and closed with elven magic. It was too daunting a task for now.  
  
She looked up briefly as she was led by several new passageways, which in fact led to the upper halls where the elves held their feasts. Kizea could hear the sounds of a lute being played, and she stopped short for a second. She stood rigid, staring up the path as she listened to the plaintive music. It was from something she had heard long ago, almost familiar, but she couldn't remember when or how. Legolas, who followed the detail as they proceeded, took notice of Kizea's apparent interest.  
  
"Why would a Fendowan recognize elven music?" he thought with some curiosity, "Perhaps she has some knowledge of our customs here."  
  
A tall, grim elf pushed her from behind and once again she stumbled forward, the vague memory retreating into nothingness. Downward they progressed into the cavern, until they approached several small cells carved into the walls. Kizea presumed that it would be here that she was to be kept. To her ears came the tinkling of chains being fastened. They walked by several cells, two where Melune's Fendowan guard were being held. Kizea perceived one warrior on her knees in the center of one such room, her hands unbound calmly laid upon her lap, just as a heavy wooden door slammed shut. Two elves stood an ominous guard to each door. Slowing her pace a bit, Kizea glanced to her right, where she saw Melune shoved against a wall with an elf securing her wrists behind her back with chains. A heavy bolt secured the chain to the wall, forcing Melune to stand erect. Kizea shook her head and smiled to herself. Such a simple detail would not hold Melune for long. Once again she was pushed roughly from behind, this time with something sharp. Kizea guessed aimlessly that it was most likely an arrow tip. Finally they came to the last empty cell within the row, furthest into the tunnel, and Kizea presumed that this was to be for her. She began to slow her pace again, only to be prodded forward once more, and she walked obediently past the doorway, even deeper into the darkened corridor.  
  
Down they went into the tunnel system until at last there came a smaller, dimly lit passageway to the right. It was here that Kizea was forced to march. The path was short, leading into a smaller darker cell than the others had procured. Kizea momentarily thought that perhaps this was an execution chamber, but she quickly dismissed this in her mind. If the elves had meant to kill her, they had ample chance to do it in the throne room, where she was helpless and displayed to all the wood elves. No, Kizea decided, here was the place where she would be kept until the elf king decided what to do with her. She walked passively into the cell and turned pivoting around the face the doorway. There stood Legolas, with a drawn dagger in his hand. Although Kizea was not usually one to be frightened, the sight of the elf startled her and she instinctively stepped backwards, only to back herself into another elven guard. Kizea looked nervously around the tiny room. There were four other elves with her, including Legolas. Two had drawn arrows into their bows and they were aimed directly at her. The girl's eyes darted about the room, looking for an escape route. There was little fighting she could do against four armed elves with bound hands.  
  
Seeing Kizea's distress, Legolas spoke quietly in elvish to his comrades, and to her surprise and relief they began to file out of the cell. He had not thought to quell her fear by sending his comrades away. She had not been affected in the least by the other Fendowan, even when an entire room full of elves came under Melune's will. Yet, Legolas was mildly fascinated by what he perceived to be the calming effect HIS voice seemed to have on her. He really had meant only to clear the room. But a dim perception had come to him as he walked slowly to her. It was as though she recognized his voice from somewhere. He quickly dismissed such a ridiculous notion. Until now, no elf had ever even seen a Fendowan warrior, much less become acquainted with one. He stepped closer, and the blueness of her eyes stared wearily at him. Kizea took another step back.  
  
Quickly moving beside her, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned her around. Kizea stood rigid when she felt the softness of his hand sweep down her arm to her little hands. He placed one thin finger between a cord and her wrist, and deftly slid the dagger under the rope. Then pulling up in one swooping motion, he cut the cord that tightly bound Kizea arms, and she broke free. Kizea pulled her arms in front of her, and walked a few steps forwards before turning around again to face Legolas. As she watched the elf return his dagger to his belt she felt compelled to say something, but she didn't quite know what to say. Rubbing her wrists, Kizea smiled a little, though Legolas could not see it under her mask.  
  
"Thank you master elf," she said, "I thought this was to be my execution chamber."  
  
Legolas nodded slightly to her and turned to leave. Kizea watched him calmly walk to the door.  
  
"Legolas," Kizea said again. The elf stopped short and turned to look at her. Kizea stood meekly in the center of the room, suddenly petite in stature to him.  
  
"She is a curious thing," he thought to himself, "As savage and brave a warrior as I have seen, but such a small figure! Almost a child! I have not seen the like of it! How came she to such skill with a blade at so young an age?"  
  
"Legolas," Kizea repeated, "Might I ask for a drink of water?"  
  
Legolas cocked his head to one side. Although her face was hidden from him, Legolas could plainly see the sweat on the girl's hands as she rubbed her wrists.  
  
"I heard long ago that a Fendowan warrior neither eats nor drinks," Legolas replied flashing her an amused smile. Kizea smirked.  
  
"And I heard long ago that the immortal elves were winged and could fly," she answered. Another small smile escaped the elf's lips.  
  
"That is a common rumor, but unfortunately not a true one," Legolas said, "I will have some water brought to you."  
  
His slender hand pushed on the door, and it began to open. Kizea stepped forward, a new urgency in her voice. Legolas turned his head to listen to her once more.  
  
"One more thing," Kizea said somberly, "You must deliver a message to your father, the king. Tell him that the guards standing before Melune's door must be deafened to her voice. This thing he MUST do, or not long will she be contained. He may yet save all of Middle-Earth for a while. The elves are very sensitive to the voices of the Fendowan."  
  
"Yours as well?" he asked softly, "Will I be forced to fall under the spell of your voice?"  
  
Then Legolas stepped from the room and closed the heavy wooden door behind him. It closed with a heavy sound, and Kizea stood for a few moments in wonderment. Then she turned her attentions to her own freedom. She knew there were at least two elves standing watch over her, but she was perplexed as to why she was brought this far into the caverns. At last she decided that the king did not wish her and Melune to be in close proximity to one another.  
  
In later years, this same cell, deep within the elf king's stronghold, would imprison many celebrities of Middle-Earth, including the dwarf lord, Thorin, and eventually the creature Gollum, before his own escape with the aid of Sauron's orcs in the nearby wood.  
  
Once the door had shut, Kizea sank to her knees. Her encounter with the elves had not turned out as she had hoped. Stripped of her precious daggers and her jewels, she had little to barter with now. Lifting her bruised hand she felt the smooth and cold contours of her golden mask. Pulling it slightly away from her face, she slipped a small end of her sleeve into the crack to wipe away the sweat underneath. Then she let it fall back into place. Focusing her attentions to her clothes, she held up a torn end of her tunic. Her once immaculate garments were now tattered with slash marks mingled with dirt, blood and bits of spider web. Kizea sighed, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Her hands dropped to her side. At least she was alive.  
  
"Better to concentrate on how I may leave this place," she thought to herself. Standing up, she walked the whole length of the cell, feeling along the wall. The room was darkened but for a single torchlight that shined through a small window in the door. There was no stick of furniture in the cell, only the hard rock floor. Walking to the door she placed both hands lightly on the door, feeling the wood and the heavy metal scrolled hinges that held it in place to the wall. Almost at once, an elf's face peered at the tiny window, staring at her menacingly. Kizea sprang backwards towards the end of the cell, frowning.  
  
"Hmmmm," she thought as the face disappeared from the window again, "Heavy oak wood, and those hinges. A metal I have not seen the like of before. I am not sure I can break this door. And the guards hear me plainly when I merely stand at the door! I will have to deal with them somehow as well. Cursed elves and their powers! Were that I was imprisoned anyplace but here! Whatever I do, I will have but one chance."  
  
Some hours passed, though Kizea was not sure how long. At last, fatigue began to overtake her, and she knelt in the center of the room and closed her eyes. Kizea had half decided that the door would have to be open to offer her the best chance of escape. The tiny window in the door would be useless to mount an offensive. Even if she managed to reach out and grab a guard through the window, the other guard would simply break her arm on the other side. If she were a guard that is what she would do. And then all hope would be lost. She would have no chance of recovering the stone so injured. When water was brought to her she would leap against the door, disarm and overcome the guards in the hallway and make her escape through the tunnel. Perhaps, if she were fortunate, she could find the underground river that she constantly heard. It must flow to the outside of the caverns, she decided. Her one consoling thought was that Melune and her followers would fair no better, and she had seen Melune chained to the wall. Her rival would have the added task of breaking the strange metal chain and freeing her companions before making her own way out.  
  
Slowly, sleep took over and the girl began to doze. The heavy sounds of the creaking door sometime later jerked Kizea awake.  
  
"Too late! Too late!" she thought angrily, "They are already in the room! I must be prepared to instantly attack when the door begins to open the next time!"  
  
Kizea stood up and tightened her eyes on the elves that now filled the dimly room. At first, she could see but four elves. One with a small wooden cup filled with water. Two elves with drawn bow and arrow, fixed upon her. The fourth was Legolas, holding a torch. Without a word, Legolas motioned to a shorter elf standing to his left to present the water to her. She looked at them all before holding the cup under her veil to smell the contents of the glass.  
  
"It is not poisoned!" Kerrinais blurted out, irritated. The girl's eyes shot up at him.  
  
"It is alright. Drink." Legolas said soothingly.  
  
Kizea gripped the cup harder and turned her back to the group. Two elves immediately stepped forward, but Legolas held out an arm and they halted.  
  
"The Fendowan cannot show their faces to anyone," Legolas said to them. Kizea turned her head slightly as she listened to him. The sound of Legolas's voice was soft and rhythmic and pleasing to the ear, and he had some knowledge of Fendowan culture, such as it was. Kizea felt pleased with Legolas. He was clearly empathetic to her.  
  
Quickly she lifted her mask as far as it would go, and then tipping her head back slightly, she let the soothing water trickle into her parched mouth. But the happy moment was short-lived. Almost as soon as Kizea had finished her drink, she found her arms being pulled and bound in back of her again.  
  
"King Thranduil wishes to speak with you once more," Kerrinais said as he began to roughly bind her hands together. Kizea struggled with the elves, but in her weakened state, she had not the power to overcome them. Once again, they had caught her by surprise. Angrily, she turned her attentions to Legolas.  
  
"Am I to be brought again before your king bound like a dog?" she said in a low, angry voice.  
  
Legolas pondered over her statement and then lifted his hand in the air. The elves stopped their attempts to subdue her.  
  
"There is something of a serious nature that my father would discuss with you," Legolas began in a somber tone, "If you go from this cell unbound, as a free captive of the elves, will you hear my father speak? Will you vow to attempt no escape?"  
  
Kizea threw the last of the ropes to the ground, rubbing her chafed wrists again.  
  
"I will hear your king," Kizea replied, "I will vow no escape."  
  
Kerrinais balked as he stepped back to where Legolas stood.  
  
"She lies," he whispered angrily in elvish, "She will use the first chance she finds to kill as many of us as she can. Perhaps even your father! Her hands must be tied, Legolas!"  
  
"I do not lie! I have given my word!" Kizea retorted indignantly, "As a Fendowan, I am bound by my honor to break no vow! I will not leave until I am let go from this place." Both Kerrinais and Legolas stared at her.  
  
"You understand elvish," Legolas said, impressed, "From where did you learn elvish?"  
  
"I have not learned it, I was born with it," Kizea replied soberly, walking past the group towards the door, "We are wasting time that we do not have. Take me to your king."  
  
Her answer greatly perplexed Legolas, but he dismissed this thought as more pressing matters were at hand. The other elves looked on with wonder, also considering her understanding of the elven language with some astonishment. With Legolas leading the way, they marched back through the tunnel system to the throne room. At the opening to the upper cellblocks however, Legolas took a different path, leading farther to the right this time. Kizea noticed the widening of the hallways, and took note that the ever-present sounds of the river grew fainter and fainter. They climbed up a steep upturn in within the tunnel, walking past more cells. But these were not the ones where Melune and the other Fendowan were held. Still, there were guards at some of the cells. Some prisoners moaned or shouted from behind the bolted doors.  
  
"I see the king keeps many guests," Kizea said sarcastically as they walked. The only answer to her comment was a pointed arrow that was shoved into her back, pushing her forward. She entertained a brief thought to turn around, grab the arrow and break it, but she had vowed her cooperation to Legolas. In truth, she would not have minded subjugating some of them, but then Legolas would no longer trust her. To this end, she thought, the price of losing his trust was not worth the temporary victory she would accomplish. She needed a champion on her side, and right now Legolas seemed to be the only one who sympathized with her. In the end, she decided that her battles were better placed elsewhere. Kizea, feeling debased and stripped of her dignity, continued on without further comment. 


	5. A Strained Alliance

As the group proceeded, they passed an alternate tunnel that Kizea recognized. When they had passed this way before, the sounds of lutes playing and jovial merrymaking echoed throughout the vast halls of the underground kingdom. Now, all was silent and still. Kizea thought perhaps the elves had taken her in the middle of the night. If she had managed to stay awake within her cell, she might have been able to determine how many hours had passed and therefore the time of day, but there was no knowing the length of time that she had slept. As she went along, Kizea thought that perhaps she had seen the last of the daylight, and that thought saddened her.  
  
Suddenly a brighter light shone in the tunnel, and Kizea became aware of two elven guards standing at attention at the entryway to the great throne room. Each held a long elven spear in his grasp, and Kizea carefully eyed them as she walked by. Once inside the large chamber, she turned slightly to the right, where she knew the king's throne would be. As expected, King Thranduil was sitting at the far end of the room, with four elven guards standing behind him, their long knives drawn in anticipation of trouble. Glancing over at the pillar, she was surprised to see the elven swords that she and Melune had fought so ferociously with, carefully placed back to their original positions.  
  
Her own golden weapons were long since gone, and Kizea breathed a small sigh of regret at the thought of their loss. Finally she stood quietly before King Thranduil. A sort of reserved concern grew on his face when he realized that Kizea was not bound. But Legolas came forward and whispered to his father, and at last the king nodded and motioned for the guards to lower their knives. This mildly surprised Kizea, but she was nevertheless weary of the king's intent upon bringing her before him. He had apparently made some decision about her fate at least. Melune and the others were not present, and Kizea wondered if he had already dispelled some vague sentence upon them. The king eased himself back in his chair and gazed at her expectantly before speaking. Kizea still refused to bow to him.  
  
"You have entered my realm uninvited, interfered with the elven patrols that keep my kingdom safe, and assailed the creatures who exist here by my leave. Then you come to me for help."  
  
Kizea stood calmly before him, considering how she might answer.  
  
"I came to seek that which should never have entered your realm. I sought the wisdom and help of the elves, King Thranduil. It was my intention to seek you out. I should never have found your underground castle without making myself known to your patrols. But as it was, they found me first. As for the creatures that live in Mirkwood, I only defended myself from the spiders that infest your woodlands like a pestilence. Would you have me allow them to feast upon me merely because I am within your kingdom's boundaries?"  
  
"They are here by my leave!" Thranduil bellowed, "I am the ruler here!"  
  
"But the Fendowan have no rulers," Kizea said calmly. Several elves stepped forward angrily, wielding drawn elven long knives, but King Thranduil quickly raised his hand. The advancing elves stopped and stepped back to their positions.  
  
"There is little more than myth surrounding your kind, and we know little more of you than what you have told us" he began somberly, "But despite your rude manners, I am inclined to believe that you have relayed naught but the truth to me and my son, Legolas. And against my better judgment, it seems I have little choice but to place my trust in one who takes pride in having no loyalties to the world."  
  
"It is because of my loyalty that I am before you," Kizea replied annoyed, "I am loyal to my order! I am loyal to my word as a Fendowan! Think you that I would even be standing before you now if not for my promise to Legolas? I should be gone by now, seeking to return the Stone of Anor to its rightful place of safety, not bartering for my right to do so! It is I who came to YOU for help, King Thranduil, and for my efforts I have been debased and imprisoned! Never should such a high being as myself be so ill used!"  
  
The King shifted in his chair. The elven king was not used to being addressed in such a manner, still the pressing needs of his mind inclined him to leniency with Kizea. If indeed she spoke the truth of the stone to him, then he needed to put aside his distaste for the girl and act.  
  
"It seems your companions, those that had come after you, have escaped from my underground domain. The one you fought with here, in this very room, placed my elven guard under an enchantment and they released all, save for you, going as far as walking them to the magical gates and opening them."  
  
Kizea let out a small gasp, her eyes widened. She caught sight of Legolas's calm expression. Did he know all this while and still not tell her?  
  
"Foolish! Foolish!" cried Kizea in disbelief, "After our encounter within your throne room; after I warned you, thought you not to even cover the guards ears? Did you not even caution them to her trickery?"  
  
King Thranduil said nothing, but only stared at her audacity, yet he knew that Kizea was not entirely wrong of the situation.  
  
"Father," Legolas said whispering, "She warned us. For the other one's evil, she must not be held accountable. I believe her to be truthful."  
  
The King waved Legolas away with his hand. Surprised, Legolas stepped back. Kizea bowed her head, but not in subjugation. She became suddenly depressed. The weight of her mask seemed a tiresome thing at moments like these. Being a prisoner of the elves was enough of a hardship. Now, bound to her promise to remain imprisoned, and with Melune free to seek the stone unfettered, matters were worsened tenfold.  
  
"This is distressing news indeed, your majesty," Kizea said finally, "You MUST let me go now, King Thranduil. For every moment that Melune seeks for the stone is a moment too long delayed for me. The entire world stands now at your feet, King of Elves! What you do now will determine the life and death of many races in Middle-Earth, and perhaps it is already too late!"  
  
"Your rival has not all the advantage," the king replied, "She does not know where to look for the stone. I am the only one who knows where Gwaihir has taken it. If I am to trust you as my son seems to, you must tell me once and for all why it was taken from Goldorma. For until now, we all know but rumors. Not truth. You are the only ones to see firsthand of the stone's abilities. Even the mighty Gwaihir trembled as he clutched it within his grasp, and refused to allow me to touch it. Such was the stone's power that he only questioned me and left. What is the power of the stone that so many would risk their lives for it? Why would a Fendowan relinquish her birthright and forsake her own order in pursuit of it? Tell me now. What does this Melune plan to do with it? For unless I am satisfied, surely you will never leave this kingdom again."  
  
Kizea felt suddenly cold inside. Insulted and shaking, she swallowed hard before she began to speak.  
  
"Melune plans to bring darkness to the world with it," she began, "The stone..."  
  
Kizea faltered, she could not get the words out. She licked her lips and breathed deeply to summon her courage. Then standing erect, she turned her head once more and peered into Legolas's blue eyes from beneath her heavy mask and found some small comfort in his gaze.  
  
"The stone," Kizea continued, "will bring to life any dead thing."  
  
Small gasps of disbelief and horrified whispers resounded throughout the hall. King Thranduil's face fell to alarm as he raised his hand to silence the room.  
  
"ANY dead thing," the king repeated in disbelief, "You are telling me a high priestess of the Fendowan, chosen before hundreds, perhaps thousands of others who have sought it fruitlessly over the ages, intends to use the Stone of Anor to resurrect the dead back into this world?"  
  
"Not merely the dead," Kizea continued, "Melune is a minion of evil now. She remains a Fendowan, yet her allegiance to the Fendowan order is broken. I cannot explain it to you. But I tell you she means to use the stone to bring Rakal the Destroyer and all the orc armies since the Battle of the Last Alliance back into Middle-Earth. Perhaps, eventually, even the embodiment of Sauron himself."  
  
Upon hearing Rakal's name, Legolas's face contorted with rage, and he pursed his lips to avoid speaking. He stood next to his father, shaking his head, his eyes tightly shut as though trying to blot out Rakal's bitter memory. Thranduil nearly laughed at Kizea, who stood rigid.  
  
"You speak of the impossible, noble Fendowan. Nothing but the ring of power may bring back the dark lord, and that has been lost from the world for an age."  
  
Kizea's somber eyes did not blink, but stayed fixed upon the king.  
  
"The stone's power is limitless, and there is no treachery to which Melune is not capable. If I do not find the stone before her, the world will be covered of such blackness as to be the end of all things as we know them. You must know of the elven lore surrounding the light of Anor, and to this I say, beware of the elven lore! For of every elven song; with every elven myth there begins with a truth!"  
  
The amused smile slowly disappeared from King Thranduil's face. Yes, there were elven songs that spoke of the stone, the flame of Anor, and its ability to transform evil to good and likewise, all that is good to evil. Much murmuring and whispering ensued in the throne room. Several tall, long- robed elven lords stood before the king, with their backs towards Kizea, whispering. Kizea could not see the king, who was surrounded, but rather she concentrated her attentions to Legolas and Kerrinais as they listened intently to the group's discourse. Kerrinais had an angry, distrustful look about him, but Legolas's face was harder to read. He seemed solemn, but shook his head several times, obviously aiming for a different course of action than what had been suggested at the onset. At last they parted, and stood behind the throne. Kizea's gaze rested once more to the stately, tall elf sitting on the throne and she knew everything had been decided.  
  
The elven king raised his left hand, motioning for a guard standing in the recesses of the chamber to step forward. Kizea glanced sideways as he approached, thinking how she might dodge an attack from behind. Instead, he walked in front of the girl, holding up velvety pillow. On the pillow lay her two golden Fendowan daggers, newly cleaned, sparkling in the torchlight. No scratch or spec of dirt could be detected, but the jeweled handles gleamed with every movement. Kizea stood perplexed before the elf for an instant, half expecting him to address her in some manner, but he said nothing. Slowly, she reached both hands forward and gently lifted the weapons from the pillow, and lowered her hands to her side. The elf removed back to the dark corner of the chamber behind the throne.  
  
"I know not your name," the king said finally to her.  
  
"I am called Kizea, master of the Fendowan," she replied.  
  
"No," King Thranduil said in a more earnest tone of voice, "That is the name given to you when you came to the stone's service. What is your other name? Your name when you walked in the daylight as one of the free people of Middle-Earth?"  
  
Kizea was taken aback. Thinking back on the last years of her life, no mention of this was ever brought to her attention. Valnin had only spoken of their mutual father, and that the elves were an eternal source of sadness and misery to their family. He spoke nothing of what she was in a former life, and she never questioned it.  
  
"What knows you of the daylight?" she snapped, "The elves live here underground, within the blackened forest amidst the vilest of creatures, making merry without thought to where the rest of the world suffers."  
  
King Thranduil smiled once more. He had struck a chord within her. She was compelled always to protect the stone, even to the end of her own life. Kizea was bound as a Fendowan never to remove her heavy mask and feel the rain upon her face. She could never know the pleasures that a mate could bestow, or the happiness of companionship of family, something that was very basic to elven culture. For her, there was no dancing, no camaraderie, only training and guarding the stone, an endless existence with no relief until the end of her days. She was in many ways, a prisoner. The king slowly understood Kizea, she was envious of the elves.  
  
"Even an elf may leave this underground kingdom and wander to put his face to the sun if he desires it. You did too at some point beyond your reckoning, and then you possessed of another name. What was it?"  
  
"I.I do not know," she began slowly, "There was nothing before I came to the Fendowan. I am only called Kizea."  
  
King Thranduil settled back into his chair. Could she be one of the legendary two? Elven lore was clear. There would be two Fendowan returned to life from the abyss. One possessed of the purest heart and the other of blackest night. Through the flame of Anor, neither master remembering their past, but only their fate. The two chosen Fendowan would walk amongst the elves and ultimately decide the Stone of Anor's fate, and the fate of all races upon Middle-Earth.  
  
"It matters not," he said finally, "Kizea, we are at a crossroads. I believe that you are a master of the Fendowan, and a keeper of the light of Anor. I am concerned of the stone coming to the hands of evil as are you. But as a lord in Middle-Earth, you must realize that I have a grave responsibility to the keeping of my people, and that I must act in their best interest to maintain accord and prosperity while we live in this world. I have decided to release you of your bonds, and authorize you to seek beyond the boundaries of my realm for the sacred stone with a guard of my most trusted and powerful elven warriors, and return with it to this realm, where we both might best decide what is to be done."  
  
Kizea shook her head in protest.  
  
"I cannot allow that!" she said angrily, "I am the only one who must retrieve the light of Anor. You cannot force this upon me! I will not return the Stone of Anor here to be a trinket for your treasure trove, and I will not suffer to be looked after like a child by your elven guards!"  
  
Kerrinais glanced down at the king, amazed at his composure. To anyone but a Fendowan would the king of Mirkwood accept such insolence. The king leaned forward in his chair.  
  
"I mean no disrespect to you Kizea, master of the Fendowan," he said gently, "But surely even you must know that the stone cannot be protected as before in the great mountain. It would be of little consequence for the one who stole it in the first place to retrieve it there again. I vow the stone is not to be destined for any treasure chamber of mine, but rather it must be relinquished to that being who can keep it best. Do you agree?"  
  
Kizea stood silent for a moment pondering his words. She also knew the Anor stone could not be returned to the mountain where Melune would easily recover it. Something else must be done with it.  
  
"We must both put aside our pride and work together, and hope that our deeds are enough to prevent the Stone of Anor from being lost to the shadows!" the king urged.  
  
Although Kizea loathed the thought of the elves accompanying her, she felt that her captivity would continue unless she relented. However, she also had no doubts in her mind to the uselessness of their aid. They had not the skill in battle to overcome any of the Fendowan warriors that rode even now towards the stone, much less the evil Melune herself. Only she might have the ability to kill any of them, yet she was oath bound to never to shed the blood of her own kind. Even Melune was unable to kill her during their battles, although she had several chances. Some inexplicable force had kept her hand from doing so, but she did not know what. Kizea sighed. How then could she deal with them by herself? And what of Gwaihir? She must still find the eagle's whereabouts somehow.  
  
"I agree," she said at last, "But your elven guard would only stand in my way, and at my side in battle against those Fendowan who are covered by the shadow, they put themselves at great peril. Your guard could easily be killed in the fight that must surely take place, and it will make my position more tenuous if I am forced to protect them as well as fight my own kind."  
  
Kerrinais looked away, trying to hide his contempt while the King smiled slightly at Kizea's arrogance.  
  
"I send my elven guards forth so that together we may accomplish this task. The elves are not so easily overtaken as you would like to imagine. Without shedding any blood, the elves have made even you a prisoner, is this not so? Also Gwaihir the Windlord would be more trustful of you if you were in the company of my kindred. For I do not believe he would give up the stone to any Fendowan's hand."  
  
Kizea slowly nodded. Indeed, it would be a logical course of action, for Gwaihir had little connection with any Fendowan save for that fateful day on the cliff. Better not to give up the stone to any Fendowan before he was sure of their side to light. And he did trust the elves, even if Kizea did not.  
  
"Very well," Kizea said at last, "Where has Gwaihir taken the stone?"  
  
"He seeks Mithrandir for council, that is why Gwaihir first came amongst us."  
  
"Gandalf?" Kizea said with sudden interest, "Gandalf is the wizard for whom Gwaihir seeks?"  
  
"Yes," the king replied, "Gwaihir sought out Gandalf the Gray, who had recently visited us, but he arrived too late. Gandalf had already left for the elf havens of Tamlot beside Isodor before the Windlord arrived. Do you know of him?"  
  
Legolas gazed directly ahead, staring off into nothingness; the sting of Tamlot and Imladris still fresh within him. Legolas said nothing, and let no expression come to his face, but Kerrinais glanced over at his friend with some concern. Few elves knew of the events that had transpired in Tamlot, 10 years previous. Kerrinais did not even believe that Legolas's father knew of his son's love for the murdered Queen Lisaine. Legolas's friend could only imagine how the mere mention of Tamlot tore at Legolas's heart. Kizea remained pensive for a moment.  
  
"I have heard of Gandalf only," Kizea began, "But if Gwaihir is taking the stone to Gandalf in Isodor, then it is in Isodor where I will retrieve it. For there is no telling the pathways and roads of a wizard, and Gandalf the Grey may have many stops in-between before reaching the elf haven, not knowing he is being sought. I will go directly to Isodor and find the wizard there."  
  
The king nodded and stood up. Several elves within the large room bowed their heads. Legolas glared at Kizea, knowing in his heart what would happen in the next moments, and he began to feel angry. This arrogant, unrefined outsider would be forcing him to a place where he thought he would never be made to travel again.  
  
"I will send three elves with you," King Thranduil began as he stepped down, "I will send Tenmelion, and Kerrinais, who are loyal guardians of the border. And also I will send with you my son Legolas, for he is of the highest valor and greatest judgment. Legolas is also acquainted with Mithrandir, and in traveling with him, Mithrandir may know that we are of a solemn agreement."  
  
Kizea gazed over at the three elves to accompany her on her journey. She plainly saw the distrust and contempt on their faces, and wondered if they would speak against the king's choice or no. They, all of them, clearly had no wish to be recruited to this journey, especially Legolas. He stood silently beside the throne, and only Kizea detected a slight tremble in his hand. She could feel a tumult of thought rushing through his mind. Kerrinais however, made little effort to hide his animosity. Kizea was sure that he would be of some nuisance on the trip. The three chosen elves, however, said nothing against the king's choice.  
  
"Agreed," Kizea said at last, "We should leave at once. There is no time that we can afford to waste."  
  
The king stood before Kizea, towering above her tiny frame.  
  
"No," the king replied, "It is but deep in the night within the wood, and all manners of creatures wander my realm at night. I know you have already met with the spiders. But there are other, older things that wander in the darkness. It is not wise to speed an end to your journey before you have begun it."  
  
Kizea thoughts regressed to the heaving abdomen of the great black spider as she spun her web around Kizea's body, trapping her in a cocoon of thick mucus. Still, she could not allow such thoughts to sway her judgment. The spiders had not prevailed, and Kizea no longer considered them a threat. She began to protest, but the king raised his hand. For the first time, Kizea cut her sentence short and listened.  
  
"It would do you no good to attempt it now, Kizea, master of the Fendowan. In a few hours the day will dawn, and the darker creatures will retreat into their black hiding places once more. I would invite you to feast and rest as need be, as a guest of Mirkwood, not a prisoner. I will have horses and supplies prepared to quicken you on your journey. I fear your counterpart will not fair as well this night. I do not doubt that the others of your order will spend the remainder of their evening fighting for their lives."  
  
The King's confidence amused Kizea. She rather imagined how Melune would spend the night hunting the elven King's would-be assassins, sharpening her skills, relishing in the kill of new quarry. Still, she kept silent. Four elven maidens now surrounded her, their muted green gowns sparkling with hints of green stones. Kizea thought to the gems that she had given the king only the previous day and wondered of their fate. Their loss was regrettable, but if they had speeded her course to the stone, then they had served their purpose.  
  
Kizea vaguely wondered about the tall, graceful maidens as she followed them obediently through another passageway, this time away from the area where she was previously kept. In stark contrast to the cellblock, this new path was well lit with torches; the pathway was smoother and wider, the ceiling taller. The elf-maid's long flowing hair shined and glimmered as they proceeded, and Kizea scrutinized with admiration the green gemstones that were fixed within their traditional Mirkwood braids. The Fendowan thought how similar her own hair might be, but hers was simply tied, and plain. She was not afforded the luxury of bathing since her arrival to the Elven stronghold, and Kizea thought of how tangled and cobweb strewn her own tresses must look to the elves. No match for the meticulously coiffed tresses of the elf maidens. Brushing her hand slightly to the back of her head, she pulled a tiny stick from her own hair, and held onto it. Quickly, she lowered her hand to her side, and she let out a small sigh.  
  
"The king takes prodigiously good care of the females of his kingdom," Kizea thought aimlessly.  
  
"Yes, he is the wisest of rulers," one elf maid replied. Stopping short, Kizea stared incredulously. The maid in front of her stopped and turned to look back at the girl. Smiling, she beckoned Kizea to follow her again, and they continued. From then on, Kizea tried to keep her thoughts bent on the stone, and not on frivolous baubles that were of no concern to her. But the elf maid who had read her mind so easily, kept smiling.  
  
At length, Kizea was led to an intricately carved archway. As the elf maids stepped aside, Kizea peered past them into the deeper recesses of the chamber. Against the far wall were several ornate benches with soft tasseled cushions. Three carved chairs, similarly decorated with plush cushions were placed on the opposite side of the room. Drapes hung lazily from the center of the ceiling, outstretched to the corners of the room, giving off a blue-green hue to the smooth stone floor. It was so smooth in fact, that it was almost like gazing at one's reflection in a still pool of water. Tapestries and wooden carvings were displayed on every wall. In the center of the room was a flat, round downy bed, covered in a shimmering blue-green coverlet.  
  
The stitching formed shapes of various woodland animals; rabbits, deer, fish, and feathered creatures. All lived in harmony under the watchful eyes of the Mirkwood elves. Kizea proceeded into the chamber, her sights bent on the fabulous covering. As she stepped closer, her eyes made out, on one corner the distinct outline of an ancient alter, and a smallish, polished stone perched to the top of it, girdled in silver and golden threads, emanating light to the far sides of the quilt. Kizea stood frozen admiring it. Reviewing the other parts of the coverlet with wonder, each stream of light that originated at the stone made it's way to another corner of the quilt, intercepted by animals, trees, men and elves and dwarves and all manners of living things in Middle-Earth. At each of the other corners of the quilt, was the likeness of three rings of power, each interlocking and producing it's own strength and light unto the inhabitants of Middle-Earth. Walking to the far corner of the bed, Kizea placed a hand on one set of stitches, running her fingers over the raised threads, scrutinizing the needlework. An image flashed into her mind, and it was the long, wiry hand that displayed an elven ring of power proudly upon the forefinger.  
  
"This coverlet," Kizea asked, "Where did these likenesses come from? I believe I recognize some of these symbols. One is certainly the great stone, but these others..."  
  
A graceful, elf maiden came over to the bed and looked over Kizea's shoulders. Her long, platinum hair fell about her shoulders, two Sindarin braids spilled over her ears and hung delicately from behind her ears.  
  
"Most of our chambers have decorated quilts as such, they are mostly elven in origin. The king has bid this to be your chambers until your parting on the morrow. He thought you would like to wash before eating. I have placed an elven-gown on the far chair that you may wear, if you wish your other clothes to be washed and mended."  
  
The Fendowan hadn't noticed the fresh clothes that had been prepared for her. Her eyes were bent on the coverlet, and she could not look away from it. Kizea almost feared that if her eyes strayed, then she would lose the image in her mind, and she did not wish to.  
  
"Thank you. Thank you. But the coverlet, what is this likeness? For I am sure I have seen it before."  
  
The elf-maiden glanced down with curiosity to where Kizea indicated.  
  
"That is Vilya, the elven ring of Air." she answered sweetly, "But its bearer, Lord Elrond of Imladris resides far from here, and few Mirkwood elves have had the privilege of visiting that fair kingdom. Few strangers, even of elf-kind, are welcomed. And you say you've seen it before? Have you ever traveled to Imladris?"  
  
Kizea stepped back from the bed.  
  
"No. Never." Kizea replied, "I only thought it looked familiar to me, but from where I do not know. I have never been to any elven city but this one."  
  
The elf maiden smiled.  
  
"You might ask Lord Legolas or Lord Kerrinais. They both have been to Imladris. If you find an instance to ask them of the ring, they may tell you. I have heard it is of exceptional beauty."  
  
Kizea glanced around the room, as though searching for an escape route should she be held against her will again. Glancing back to the elf, her mind came back to the present.  
  
"Lord Legolas has been to Imladris? But it does not matter. I have no time for such notions. I was only curious."  
  
"Then perhaps you would like to wash before you attend the elven feast."  
  
She directed Kizea's sight back to the elven gown. Beside it on the bench sat a small wooden bowl, filled with water. The gown draped over the chair was plain. Kizea picked up the dress. The material was thin, almost transparent, yet she could not see through it. The smoothness of the weave was a stark contrast to the heavy, coarse tunic that she normally wore. The maid reached forward to help remove Kizea's mask, but the warrior instantly sprang backwards, drawing her Fendowan daggers in a defensive gesture. The elf maid stood in the center of the room, bewildered. Lowering her knives, Kizea relaxed her stance.  
  
"I cannot remove my mask," she said softly. The maid bowed her head slightly and left from the room.  
  
The meal for the evening was well under way when Kizea was led down the passageway. The sounds of music and revelry were clear to her ears. Pulling at her elven dress, she shifted herself uncomfortably. Never before had she favored anything other than her Fendowan tunic, but her old clothes were tattered, and badly needed mending. It would not do to trip on a torn piece of cloth while fighting Melune to the death. Walking along, Kizea felt that she could possibly withstand the indignity of the tight elven gown for an evening if it meant wearing a clean tunic the next morning.  
  
Inside the feasting hall, scores of elves were scattered about the room. Kerrinais sat at the far end, nearest to the door, discussing with his neighbor the metal work of his new sword. The elf examined the fine blade, turning the flat of the sword over and back again, searching for a fault in the metal, but it was immaculate. Legolas sat a few feet away, lazily conversing with Tenmelion the best possible routes to be taken through the wood on the following day. In between sips from his cup, he watched with some pleasure three or four elven maids dancing merrily to the lutes. Food bearers deftly sidestepped around the dancers so as not to bump into them, laying before the company many plates of lembas, berries and venison from the wood.  
  
Suddenly the better part of the music subsided, and several elves in the group, including Legolas and Kerrinais glanced over at the door where Kizea stood watching the whole room. Cocking his head to one side, Legolas gazed at Kizea in her elven garb with interest. The sheerness of the fabric was most unlike her heavy, coarse Fendowan tunic. It clung to her body, accentuating her rounded breasts and hips. The only things that remained of her old outfit were her sparkling golden mask and her weathered, heavy belt. Her two long golden daggers hung at her hips, emphasizing her curvatures to an even greater degree. The elf thought the dress improved upon her, although it was of the plainest make. No scrolling or elaborate stitching decorated the gown, yet the material shined in the muted light of the room.  
  
Kizea stood watching the entire room, unused to the jovial atmosphere. She supposed, rightly, that it was like this every night. Her mind wandered back to the many meals she would have alone in a simple wooden chair before a small fire. The many platters and pitchers on the floor here and now were a stark contrast to the solitary, small plate of nuts or fish, balanced precariously on her knees, that made up her own suppers. Looking about the room, Kizea's eyes fell to an elf maiden, grinning at her with wrapped amusement. She leaned over and whispered something softly to her companion. The two maids giggled. Kizea took a single step backwards, thinking that perhaps she should remove to her quarters for the evening, that she didn't need to eat. She could just as easily find something edible in the forest the following day, but at the last second, another elf maiden, Downenwen, gestured to Kizea to sit beside her in the circle. Stepping carefully over a wooden plate of lembas bread, Kizea took a seat, and the music began to play in its full vigor once more. For another moment or two, Kizea could feel the elves watching her, and then their interest waned and conversations began to spring up again within the small company. Leaning over, Kizea whispered to the elf-maid who had spared her embarrassment.  
  
"Is the King not here this evening?" Kizea asked softly.  
  
She reached forward and took a small crust of lembas in her hand and tore off a small bite. Legolas glanced carelessly over to her, and was mildly surprised. Before she ate her own bit of lembas, Kizea gave the greater measure of her elven bread to Downenwen, waiting patiently for the elf maiden to take the first bite. It was an immensely polite gesture for a Fendowan.  
  
"The King usually attends the evening feasts," Downenwen replied, "But there are times when kingly duties restrain him from such celebrations. It is hard to say if he will come."  
  
Kizea nodded sedately, turning her head slightly to the side and lifting her mask barely enough to take another small bite. Almost instantly she felt improved. Her energy seemed returned to her. The ache in her hand lessened. She fingered the small remaining piece, admiring it. Her hand slipped to her side, fishing aimlessly for a pocket where she might seclude the extra bit for the following day. Unfortunately, there were no pockets on her elven dress. Glumly, she stuck the last piece into her mouth.  
  
"That is elvish way-bread," Downenwen said amiably, "It is excellent, is it not? One bite may return your energy to you and fill you as though you had eaten a mighty supper."  
  
Kizea smiled as she stared off to a corner of the room.  
  
"It is a pity that no Fendowan is of elf-kind. In all my years I have heard naught but mistrust of the woodland folk," Kizea said eyeing another piece of the way-bread on a plate to her left, "But I think there is much good to be learned from you."  
  
A cheery, staccato lute played loudly and Kizea's attentions were diverted away from the feast to the elven maids dancing gaily before the elven lords of the group. There was a large fire pit where a sizable blaze was stoked by two sooted elves. Oddly enough, the fire produced little smoke. A small billow here and there would glide up to the ceiling of the immense room and then disappear into several longish crevices. Kizea could even feel the fresh air blowing into the room through these cracks, and was glad to breath a small bit of it.  
  
As Kizea watched with some apathy, she found herself more and more entranced by the delightful dance. The four maids, all in unison, made no false step to the music. Several others were clapping and grinning as the four twirled about, laughing and singing. It was a sight rarely beheld by outsiders, but this did not occur to Kizea. Her attentions were focused on one particular maid, draped in elaborate silver-green wisps of sheer cloth, who seemed to be directing her dancing to Legolas. And he was watching her with all his attention, a large grin came to his mouth, his eyes sparkled. The maid spun around before him, elegantly landing on both knees, her bowed head nearly resting in his lap. The dance was over. But as the maid lifted her face and gazed into Legolas's eyes, the elf lifted a hand and gently touched her cheek with an approving nod of his head. The elf-maid bowed her head again, before standing and retreating through a doorway.  
  
Looking suddenly away, Kizea stood up abruptly holding her stomach and walked away from the happy scene, back towards her own chambers. Several elves looked up as she departed, and then went back to their conversations. She felt suddenly cold and sick, and Kizea half wondered if perhaps somewhere the stone was in imminent danger and was somehow calling to her. Turning a corner, Kizea's thoughts were suddenly jolted back when she nearly walked headlong into Kerrinais, who was blocking her path in the tunnel. The Fendowan stopped in her tracks and glared at the elf.  
  
"Would that your manners were as wondrous as your sword arm," he said indignantly, "Would you part from an elven feast with a full belly, without so much as giving thanks to your hosts?"  
  
"And when would a prisoner give thanks to her keepers?" Kizea answered, "Would you celebrate and dance oblivious while all of Middle-Earth stands at the edge of darkness? I'll not suffer to watch it!"  
  
Kizea moved to walk past Kerrinais, but he stepped lightly to the side and blocked her path once more. Kizea sighed loudly.  
  
"And I suppose you are also ignorant that you must be accompanied by a guard while you walk within these halls?" Kerrinais said.  
  
"I need no chaperone to find my quarters, and I have already given my word to your companion that I will attempt no escape until I am set free. That should be enough for any elf. Step aside, and I will be on my way."  
  
Kerrinais did not move.  
  
"You will accompany me back to the feast hall. Only when you are given your leave will you be escorted back to your chamber, and there you will remain until you are beckoned."  
  
"I do not lean on the word of kings," Kizea replied stepping backwards, "And a Fendowan master would take no heed from the likes of you!"  
  
Instantly, Kerrinais drew his new elven sword from its sheath, but Kizea hesitated. Looking hard at the fine blade, Kizea once more turned her attentions to Kerrinais's eyes. They were grim and resolute. Kizea knew that the elf was only trying to protect the sanctity of his king's realm, yet her own laws forbade her to step away and comply.  
  
"I wish not for a fight, sir elf," Kizea said impatiently, "Step aside and let me pass."  
  
Instead, Kerrinais lunged forward. The Fendowan gasped at his incredible speed, but she already had planned her mode of disarming him. Stepping quickly to the side, she dragged her right leg a bit behind her. As Kerrinais's body came forward, she grabbed his right sword arm with her hardened fingers and yanked it hard in the same direction in which he was already going. The added momentum caused the elf to step forward, and as he did so he tripped over Kizea's extended leg. The Fendowan then twisted her body around, still holding the elf's arm with an iron grip and bent his arm backwards, prying away the blade with her free hand. He landed on the cold stone with a thud and did not move. He could immediately feel the elven steel against his neck as he lay on his stomach, with Kizea's foot securely in the middle of his back. The stretching of several bowstrings caused Kizea to look up as she held the elf at bay. Five elves focused their arrows on her, and before all of them, with both swords drawn, was Legolas.  
  
"Stand down Fendowan!" Legolas cried out, "Or this moment will be your last!"  
  
She looked away and breathed deeply. Lifting her foot, Kizea stepped backwards, dropping the blade. At once, three elves appeared from behind and roughly yanked her away down the hallway. Both of her daggers were once again removed from her. Once the group arrived at her chamber door, Kizea was roughly thrown in and the door slammed shut. A heavy bolt from outside the door was locked into place. Picking herself off the floor, Kizea limped over to the bed and sat on its edge, gingerly rubbing her injured hand.  
  
In the hall, Legolas extended a hand to help Kerrinais up. He was unhurt, but for his intense pride, and he bent over, picking up the shimmering weapon. He wiped the blade with his hand before replacing it in its sheath.  
  
"Come," said Legolas, "Let us return to the feast and forget about our ill- mannered guest until the morrow."  
  
"I think it would have been the wiser course to leave her cell door ajar and let her escape. Smart rabbits would not keep a wolf in their den." Kerrinais muttered as he brushed himself off.  
  
"Yet she did not kill you and she could have," Legolas replied as they walked through the doorway, "Something causes me to find something likable behind her mask. She only seeks to preserve her station and pride in a place where she has no rank. I think I might do the same in her place."  
  
"Would that the king could relieve us of this cumbersome duty," Kerrinais said in a depressed tone of voice, "With such an ill-tempered traveling companion, our journey will be a long one. And I have no desire to return to Isodor or Imladris."  
  
"Let us think no more of it tonight," Legolas said as he patted his friend on the back.  
  
His eyes searched the room until he saw the laughing elf-maiden, bedecked in silver-green. Grinning slightly, Legolas headed towards the area where she danced, and Kerrinais followed. 


	6. Tenmelion's Lesson

The following morning, Kizea was brought under armed escort to the magical gates. She stood there calmly, her eyes darting back and forth, watchful of those that surrounded her. Her hands were bound behind her, her mouth was gagged underneath her mask, but this time she remained unblindfolded. Feeling faint and unable to catch her breath, she longed to be out in the open air. But Legolas had not accompanied the escort that morning, and Kizea could only surmise that this final insult before her departure was Kerrinais's doing. Still, she could endure the insult if it meant that she would be let go to the sunlight again. The Fendowan had been kept prisoner within the elven realm only a few days, but she tired quickly of the constant animosity between herself and the forest elves, and she longed to be rid of them. At least on the trail, she could have some space to herself, and she would only have to deal with three elves instead of a whole kingdom full of them. Deep in her thoughts, Kizea hardly noticed a tall, slim elf standing before her, whispering. Her interest was suddenly peaked and she attempted to shut out all the commotion around her to listen to his discourse, but she could hear nothing, so soft was his chant.  
  
With a mighty creaking and grinding noise, the closed stone gates slowly opened, with no help or aid from any mechanical device. Kizea eyes grew wide with wonderment. When she was brought to the elven gates previously, she did not actually see how the gates were opened. Up until her interaction with the forest elves, she had rather thought, mistakenly, that the Anor stone was the only means of real magic left within Middle-Earth. Kizea had heard of the wizards to be sure, several of them, and of the magic they possessed. But none had ever taken the trouble to materialize in the Fendowan encampments, and so they remained, at least in Kizea's mind, as the rings of power were, a myth, and nothing more.  
  
Slowly she was coming to realize that other things were at work here. On the gate, there were several large scrollings written in elvish that lined the apex of the doors, and upon completion of the elf's chant, they lit up brightly. Kizea likened it to emerging from the endless cave into the intense morning sunlit. It was blinding, and at the same time attracting, for it emitted it's own warmth which radiated out to all those that stood before the doorway. Closing her eyes and turning her head slightly, Kizea still welcomed the warmth against her Fendowan tunic, newly washed and mended. It was a happy change from the dark, chilly recesses of the elven caverns. Turning her head forward once again, the image of several horses waiting at the edge of a stone bridge came into her view.  
  
All were white but for one. Legolas sat perched upon a towering gray mare, which stood a full foot higher than the rest. Kerrinais was also astride his own horse, Moaanen. The third elf bent for the journey, Tenmelion, stood calmly holding the reins of the fourth horse, which was intended for Kizea. Only Legolas's horse remained without halter or saddle. The elves gazed at the bound woman as she was prodded forward. Almost at once, the heavy stone gates began to close, and Kizea whirled around, her eyes widening. All of her escort was gone, leaving her alone, still bound and gagged. Turning once more, she stared at the remaining three, and angrily stomped across the bridge to stand before them.  
  
Tenmelion looked up at Kerrinais amused.  
  
"Perhaps we can leave her bound and silenced," he said in elvish, attempting to hide a grin, "I propose she would be less trouble on our journey."  
  
Legolas thought to warn Tenmelion that the Fendowan understood the elven tongue, but decided against it in favor of viewing the reprisal that would surely come of his unkind words. Kizea seethed with anger. He walked quietly over to the Fendowan and bent down as though to heave her over his shoulder and throw her, still bound over her horse. Instead, Kizea jumped forward, placing her knee solidly in the elf's chest. The elf had attempted to block the attack, but Kizea's speed had caught him off guard. He fell to his hands and knees, coughing. Kerrinais looked on with alarm, and reached to his back to pull out his sword, but  
  
Legolas only smiled at his friend, shaking his head. Slowly, Kerrinais lowered his arm. Kizea then leaped into the air, using the fallen elf's back as a jumping board, and landed perfectly in the saddle of her intended horse, her hands still bound behind her back. Underneath her mask, she smiled proudly at the elves. Meanwhile, she began to work her hands in an attempt to free herself from the fine elven line. But of such craftsmanship are all things elvish, that the thin elven rope would not stretch an inch. Tenmelion stood up, coughed once more and walked silently to his horse, angry, but unwilling to display his displeasure at the very onset on their journey. Legolas spoke in a soft voice to his mount and she obediently plodded up beside Kizea's horse. Pulling a short dagger from his waist belt, Legolas proceeded to cut her free.  
  
"I believe she would rather ride on this journey unbound," he replied to Tenmelion. Kizea pulled apart her hands hard, and the cut rope snapped. Then she brought her arms up and began to savagely pull at the gag, which had been applied underneath her mask.  
  
"Here," said Legolas gently reaching forward, "Let me help you."  
  
Kizea angrily shoved his open hand away, so much so that she nearly fell off her horse. Then she yanked the knife from his other hand and with one fell swoop cut the linen cloth away from her mouth, throwing it hard to the ground. She flipped the knife over, and handed it back, hilt first. Slowly the Legolas took it, surprised at the anger that was directed at him. Kizea immediately bent her head forward and gasped for air, coughing, and Legolas realized that coupled with her own Fendowan mask, the gag had severely cut down her ability to breathe. He made a mental note to mention it to the captain of the guard upon their return, should they encounter any other Fendowan warriors again.  
  
Taking two more deep breaths, Kizea sat straight in her saddle, and seemed better now. She peered through her mask at the elf's face. His complexion seemed stark white and perfect in the sunshine as thin rays of morning sunlight made its way past the forest canopy. Kizea hadn't noticed it before, but his eyes were a magnificent sapphire blue, sparkling and shining.  
  
"My daggers," Kizea demanded, "I would have my weapons which were stripped of me twice now. Or would you send me to fight a Fendowan master and her warriors with twigs of the forest?"  
  
Legolas had intended to answer, but upon hearing Kizea's angry voice, Legolas's horse reared up and whinnied, much to the elf's shock and bewilderment. Legolas tightened his legs and remained on the horse, although his mount shook her mighty head and backed away. But Legolas quickly reached down and patted her massive neck and only after some minutes did the horse calm. Kizea only looked on with mild concern; half sorry that she had spoken to him so loudly and suddenly that she had spooked the horse. The elf shot Kizea a menacing look, which took her aback. There were few times in her dealings with Legolas when he possessed genuine anger or annoyance in his expression, but when he did it pierced Kizea to the very depths of her being. She was unnerved, and fell quiet. When the horse had sufficiently recovered, Legolas turned his attentions to the other elves and addressed the whole party.  
  
"Let us away now. We must follow the Forest River and reach the trail of Asha by nightfall."  
  
Then whispering to his horse again, they trotted away, with Tenmelion following closely behind, still upset from his reproof. As she watched the two elves leave, Kizea realized that Kerrinais's horse had walked up beside Kizea's and stopped. She really didn't want to look at him, or to acknowledge him in any way, but she also knew that it was folly to create more hard feelings than were already there. She had effectively embarrassed him in the tunnel the night before, and she was sure he would issue some challenge or punishment to be meted out at the end of the journey. He was, after all, a border guardian of the Mirkwood realm, and he would be the one to defend it. Turning her face to him, she waited expectantly, saying nothing. But he did not offer up a challenge, instead he calmly opened a saddlebag behind his leg and pulled out a package wrapped in linen. Kerrinais looked down at it with some hesitation, as though he was deciding on the best course of action to follow. Then he threw the linen wrapped item over to her. She caught it, and immediately knew what it contained.  
  
She pulled apart a piece of twine, and peeled back the linen wrapping to reveal her Fendowan daggers, sparkling and polished. Dropping the linen to the ground, she secured them in her waist belt and gathered her reins.  
  
"Take well care of this horse," Kerrinais admonished in a low voice, "If my counsel were taken, you would have left here as you arrived, on foot."  
  
Kizea gritted her teeth. Then Kerrinais sped off to catch up with Legolas and Tenmelion, who were already some distance ahead. Kizea sighed, and looked to the forest. She briefly considered the repercussions of taking a course in the opposite direction. Kizea then kicked her heels gently into her horse's side and her steed trotted off in the direction that the others had taken. 


	7. The Justice of a Fendowan

The party arrived at the trail of Asha, which cut a north/south path directly through the Mirkwood forest. They proceeded southward, following the tributary of the Forest River, until it crossed the Old Forest Road (Men-i-Naugrim) at the bridge of Coda. It was high summertime, and the days were hot and humid. The dense forest provided some relief from the sweltering sun, but the journey was slowed by frequent stops to the river. The nights, in contrast, were cold. Kizea huddled near the campfire, while the elves aimlessly walked about on patrol of the area. On several occasions, Kerrinais would see another elven patrol and would spur his horse off in their direction, and would not return to the group for several hours. This did not seem to annoy either of the other elves, his leaving them to look after the Fendowan. Kerrinais, in fact, often looked for excuses to leave Kizea's company. He wasn't in the habit of traveling with non-elves, and he blamed Kizea for his being forced on this march, to a place where it seemed no one wished to go. Tensions were often high among themselves, and Kerrinais and Tenmelion did little to hide their animosity. Kizea watched Kerrinais ride away to another group, rather wondering why she had not seen so many patrols when she had first entered the wood. After all, they had seen her, and the Fendowan were supposed to be invisible to all creatures unless they wished to be seen.  
  
On the eighth day, they came to the edge of the forest, where the trail met the wide plains and foothills of the Anduin. But it was late, and Kerrinais, being the highest-ranking border patrol elf, decided that it would be better to make camp within the forest one last night before they ventured into the open.  
  
As usual, Kerrinais rode off into the night. Kizea could barely discern a faint firelight, and assumed this was yet another patrol that he was off to inspect. Tenmelion and Legolas set off to the edge of the river to fill their water skins for the hot days ahead. And Kizea wandered into the forest, unafraid of spiders or other creatures that she might encounter. Indeed, the elves themselves were more at ease and relaxed, and she presumed that most of the forest dangers were over at the borderlands.  
  
Legolas stepped over massive roots and felled tree trunks as he made his way back to the camp. He carried with him 6 heavy water skins, filled to the brim. Tenmelion had gone off into the forest in search of additional firewood. For the most part, Legolas's attentions were bent on the ground in front of him. The area nearest to the river was fraught with ravines and other obstacles. It would not do to divert one's attentions far away, only to trip and have to refill the skins again. But as he drew nearer to the camp, he suddenly looked up and stopped short. In the dim of the firelight, a few yards from the center of the camp was Kizea, handing out morsels to each horse. She whispered a subdued hum, which struck Legolas as so musical and soothing that he was almost afraid to disturb her. He took ten steps further, and Kizea stopped abruptly, turning her head in his direction. His presence thus discovered, he walked cautiously forward and gently set down the water skins by the campfire. He continued to the edge of the camp where Kizea petted his own horse, Neonean.  
  
"Look what I found in the deep of the forest while you lingered at the river," she said happily, holding out her hand, "Apples!"  
  
Legolas stared at her outstretched hand, but did not accept the luscious red fruit.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked slowly.  
  
"Merely providing our animals with a morsel to eat," she replied. Petting Legolas's horse on her muzzle, Kizea said,  
  
"Your horse, what is her name?"  
  
"Neonean," Legolas replied softly, still staring at her. Normally, his horse did not allow strangers near her. Neonean was somewhat selective in her company, yet she allowed Kizea to pet her and pat her face as though Kizea herself was an elf. This greatly puzzled Legolas. Only one other was ever able to accomplish such a feat with this horse.  
  
"Neonean," Kizea whispered. Upon hearing her name, the horse drew her head high into the air, and whinnied.  
  
"Surely this is the most beautiful animal I have ever seen."  
  
Almost against his will, his mind drifted to back to the stables at Rivendell, where years before, his beloved Nevariel, the Queen Lisaine, had spoken the same exact words about this very horse. In the ten years since her death, Legolas had the curse of time to remember every word she had ever spoken to him. It was the only thing he had left of her.  
  
"And," Legolas whispered with some effort, "Can YOU speak to my horse? Can you understand her reply?"  
  
Kizea laughed. It was the first time Legolas had seen a lighter side of Kizea, and he gazed at her with much wonderment, but it wasn't merely her discourse. For the first time, Legolas began to see in Kizea reflections of Lisaine, and in a way his feelings frightened him. He had vowed long ago to have no other for himself, and although he might admire a beautiful elf- maiden's seductive dancing or singing, he could never be wholly rid of his feelings for the queen of the combined cities of the Anduin. The mere thought of his admiring a Fendowan warrior who was otherwise so harsh, so arrogant, so unrefined, was almost repulsive to him. He quickly squashed such thoughts from his mind. But Kizea's laughter and musical voice was at that instance so intoxicating to Legolas, and he found himself smiling at her.  
  
"Surely you are teasing me!" Kizea replied, "No, my good elf, I cannot speak to animals. Undoubtedly another Fendowan rumor you heard in your long years! It is said that only the elves may talk to a horse and understand its discourse, because only the elves are capable of appreciating it! Not like mortal man who would work such a fine beast to death in a field or the dwarves who care not for any animals at all. Or did you not know this already? Ah! But imagine such a gift as to speak to a horse!"  
  
Neonean nudged Kizea expectantly with her massive head, and the girl staggered back a step. Still, she laughed. Legolas was virtually speechless, he could only stand and watch the ease in which Kizea handled the elven mares. It was truly a sight to behold, and completely unexpected.  
  
"Mind your manners my fine friend, or I'll not give you my last apple!"  
  
Stroking the horse, Kizea finally selected Neonean one final fruit for her. She then picked up two more from a small sack on the ground, and fed the other horses in the camp each an apple. Once more she turned to Legolas.  
  
"Come back to the fire, Legolas. For I grow cold in the night air, and I've picked enough apples for all of us to enjoy."  
  
With that, Kizea bent down to the ground and gathered up her small bundle on the ground. She walked past Legolas without concern, leaving him staring into the darkness of the forest; unaware of the stinging memories she had unwittingly awakened within him. But his demeanor did not go all ways around unnoticed, for almost as soon as Kizea walked away, Kerrinais came walking his own mount back into the clearing. He glanced over in Kizea's direction, and then at Legolas, and knew his friend was troubled.  
  
"What is it? What was she doing just now?" Kerrinais asked half-interested as he pulled the saddle from Moaanen's back. Legolas started back to the camp.  
  
"Talking to the horses!" he replied, staring in Kizea's direction. The two friends walked back to the camp.  
  
Mid-morning on the following day, the troop sat astride their horses gazing out over the endless plain of the Anduin valley. Much discussion was given as to which way they should ride. In the years following Rakal's orc invasion of the valley, small settlements of men began to spring up where the proud cities once stood. Slowly, it appeared, the race of men was beginning to re-settle in some areas. They were but a seedling race in the earth, trying to grasp hold of the land to grow and prosper. The Anduin River, which cut through the valley, proved to be a most desirable route for many. To the West lay the formidable Misty Mountains, cold and unforgiving. To the East lay the thick forest of Mirkwood, with its evil creatures roaming unchecked and untamed. The only beings able to cohabit with these nameless beasts of the forest were the elves of King Thranduil's realm.  
  
As Kizea had learned, any being wandering unwelcome into the forest would quickly fall prey to the wandering creatures of the dark. And so the Anduin proved to be the easiest route for travel, with abundant water and fish. In the years to come, the race of men would find the lands along the valley harder and harder to keep. A folly it was that after Rakal's army had swept through some 10 years earlier, the surviving men, few that there were, could not agree on the rightful successor to the combined kingdoms throne. Such a prize as it was, that they fought frequently among themselves, and took to living in their smallish towns and settlements. Having no armies but merely small militias to defend the fledgling cities would eventually prove to be their undoing. Sauron's orc armies, ever ready to take advantage of a weakness, would in time seize the opportunity and vanquish the race of man from the Anduin valley entirely. But for now, men still maintained a foothold there, and to some it appeared as though the many villages that sprung up would lead to new prosperous kingdoms, and the mood among the people was, for the most part, encouraged.  
  
Legolas and Kerrinais each voted to opt for a more northerly route that would pass through the old kingdoms of Irwindal and Euphratas. The group would then head west over the High Pass to Imladris. Neither Kerrinais nor Legolas bore any desire to return to the elven city, but it was now more a matter of practicality. Such a journey would keep them in close connection to water and supplies. Also, there was more than a good chance that they would find Gandalf within the city of Rivendell, where he often stayed when traveling in that part of the country. Legolas could only guess that in Isodor, Gandalf would not linger very long, and they needed to find him with some expediency. Yes, King Thranduil had sent them forth to Isodor, but he had also cautioned his son the night before their journey began.  
  
"Mind you Legolas, keep to the well-used trails over the mountains. Gwaihir the Windlord may well pass only briefly over the elf haven of Isodor and choose to find Mithrandir in Imladris instead. It is my feeling that Gwaihir will not leave his guard down in the unprotected woodlands of Tamlot. Hasten then to Lord Elrond and meet Gandalf the Gray there. It may well be that all will be finally resolved in Rivendell."  
  
But Kizea was resolute about a more southerly path. Her idea was to lead the band past the broken city of Tuluth, which nearly sat on the river Gladden as it intersected the Anduin. And once leaving there, the journey would take them through the Pass of Balsor in the south of the Misty Mountains. This remained a more comfortable road for her, and she felt more able to traverse a known landscape. And so once again, the group set to more argument than discussion as to which was the proper way to go. Supplies and water were not quite as abundant, they argued, and the road would lead them first to Isodor before Rivendell, and none of the elves had known Gandalf to tarry in the harsher elven lands. But Kizea would not give way. The elves vehemently argued of the possibility that the group could miss the wizard by traveling to Tamlot first. Finally, Kizea told them,  
  
"You must trust to my judgment in this. There is an excellent chance that Melune uses this same path, for she too will opt for the quickest way now, not the most comfortable. I need not tell you the consequences if she is to find Gwaihir and the stone first, and it is to Isodor where King Thranduil sent Gwaihir. I am sure that Melune already knows of our plan, whether you will believe me or no. I must be sure that Gandalf does not wander aimlessly in Isodor, only then might we go to Rivendell. That is the route that Melune and the others will pursue, and that is where I must go as well."  
  
At last, upon Kizea's threat of leaving the group to go her own way, Legolas and the others relented, and they rode off onto the plain in the searing heat of the midday sun. It was several days journey from the border to reach the river. Until that time, they would need to conserve water and rations as they might, but this was of little concern. The elves normally ate sparsely, usually taking only an evening meal of lembas and a few handfuls of berries. None ever saw Kizea eat. She would steal away into the night, beyond where the shadows overtook the light of the campfire. Kerrinais often admonished her for this practice, but she paid little attention to his words, fearing neither orc nor elf nor any other creature. It was not entirely arrogance that led Kizea to believe she had witnessed firsthand the worst that the world had to offer.  
  
The group eventually came to the outskirts of a town that had once been the vast kingdom of Tuluth. It did not escape Kizea's notice that as the party grew closer, Legolas and Kerrinais moods grew more somber. Instead of interest of their surroundings, and turning their heads in ever-watchful lookout, both elves fell silent as they passed through the foothills. Their heads lowered, and their eyes staring downward. Kizea knew this had once been a battleground when Rakal's army had swept through, destroying the city. But she had no knowledge of the elves ever being involved in the fray, and in fact, did not believe they were. She attributed their silence to the persistent need of water. All their skins were now dry, their throats parched. The flat landscape offered few trees for shelter, only the endless grassy plains as they plodded along. Even Kizea began to feel the heat. Trapped within her golden mask, she often felt faint, as the sweat poured over her cheeks. The heat within was beginning to drain her. Yet, the thought of simply removing her face covering never entered her mind. In the forest of Ryalan, the Fendowan were seldom without tree or stream where they could not cool off or rest as needed. This was different. In the searing, midday sun, Kizea felt stretched to her limits, and she knew the entire group needed water and soon.  
  
In an effort to lighten the mood, Kizea briefly thought to sing a Fendowan chant in honor of the stone. But just as her mouth began to open, she looked over and cut herself short. Tenmelion was whispering an elven prayer, his arm placed across his chest, his eyes closed in reverence. Kizea knew that some elven kindred of theirs had fallen here, and probably to Rakal the Deceiver. Rakal was thus far the only orc captain bold enough to attempt and succeed, albeit briefly, for domination of the Anduin valley. The group went on in silence.  
  
At last they arrived at the small village, and Kizea was well pleased. Even the elves seemed to improve, gazing at the reconstructed buildings with some fascination. The townsfolk stopped from their business and stared as the group went by. A marvelous sight, a Fendowan AND three elves! But none dared speak to them. As Tenmelion gazed back at the people, several quickly adverted their eyes so as not to have their minds stolen away. Tenmelion smiled slightly.  
  
"Come my good elves," Kizea said finally, "The road has been long, and ahead we can rest and get water for the horses. I know of an innkeeper who will give me information as to whether anyone has seen Melune pass by. We can stop there to refresh ourselves."  
  
Kerrinais looked sideways at Legolas. No elf would normally set foot in such a township, much less corner themselves within a tavern full of men. The race of men were dirty and unkempt, virtually devoid of manners OR cleanliness. Such a thought was most distasteful to Kerrinais, but if the others would not speak against it for the moment, neither would he. Almost as soon as Kizea finished her sentence, the group rode by a heavily laden cart. A dirt-besotted man with a slightly graying beard was fiercely whipping a horse, prodding it on. Clearly, the horse was having trouble making the small incline of the road. A small boy, dressed in rags, stood meekly behind the cart, waiting for it to move. With each crack of the whip on the horse's flank, the horse whinnied and struggled on. The beast was thin and ill fed, his ribs protruded on his side. His coat was muddy and dull. Kerrinais and Tenmelion went by with hardly a second glance. But Kizea pulled gently on her reins and her own mount halted. Legolas put his hand on Neonean's neck, and she too came to a stop in the road. The elf turned back to ask Kizea why she had stopped, but she was already dismounted. He sat back and looked on with some interest, wondering what Kizea was doing. Walking up to the man, she grabbed the whip from his hand as he raised it high in the air, while the boy peered fearfully around the back of the cart. The man looked at her up and down for a second, incredulous.  
  
"What do YOU want?" he demanded angrily.  
  
Kizea said nothing, but made a hard fist and with one blinding forward punch, landed it squarely on the man's chin. He fell to the ground without a sound. The boy gasped, then giggled. Legolas watched as Kizea walked up to the horse and stroke its face before she pulled out a lembas loaf that she had hidden in her pocket. Legolas lifted his eyebrows. He did not know she had secreted away her elven food. He wondered if perhaps the rumors were not true after all, that the Fendowan neither ate nor drank. She fed it to the animal without hesitation, and the beast immediately raised its head as though new life had come to him. Then she pulled her golden dagger from her waist and cut some of the ropes that held sacks of hay and heavy goods. Pulling several heaping load to the ground, she beckoned the boy to step forward. Shyly, he walked up to her. One of his eyes was blackened.  
  
"This horse is too overloaded to make the hill," she said, "Where are you going?"  
  
"To the market, just over there," he said meekly. The boy pointed. Kizea lifted her head and gazed in the direction, some few hundred yards beyond the hill where the open market was bustling with townsfolk.  
  
"Take the cart to the market, unload it and return for the rest, then get this horse something to eat. He is starving."  
  
She reached into her pocket and placed something in the boy's tiny hand and continued to whisper to him. The boy nodded, his eyes widened with admiration. Then Kizea reached upwards to touch the boy's bruised cheek.  
  
"Fear not," she said, "I vow he will abuse you no longer. Now go."  
  
The lad sprinted to grab the horse's reins and he began to pull, a wide grin upon his face. Renewed by the lembas, and with a lightened load, the horse trotted forward with little trouble. When they were a hundred yards away, the man began to regain consciousness, only to find the tip of Kizea's dagger under his chin. He sat bolt upright, clawing behind himself to get away. Overwhelmed with sudden terror, the man looked to the left and right to see the supplies that had been left on the ground. Then he stared at the whip lying on the ground next to him, almost within his grasp. His fingers edged slowly forward, but Kizea instantly placed her boot upon the man's hand and crushed it into the ground. The man cried out, attempting to pull back his arm, but it was pinned solidly under her foot. He gazed up to Kizea's dented mask, and a new wave of horror swept over him. He had seen the others of her kind come before her. The townsfolk hurriedly bolting their doors behind them in fear, as the other Fendowan walked unchallenged through the streets in the town. Their very presence frightened away everyone, and rumors spread quickly of an impending battle that would return Rakal into their midst. The Fendowan, turned loose in Middle-Earth at last, commanded the dead. Thinking Kizea a demon, the man was too terrified to move any further.  
  
"Insolent peasant!" Kizea cried, pressing the dagger harder against his throat, "You DARE to think you might challenge ME?"  
  
The man settled back, no longer caring of his hand, or the whip.  
  
"The boy will return shortly with the cart," she growled, "Then you may finish bringing your wares to the market, such as they are."  
  
The man could not utter a sound, but only nodded. Kizea leaned in, lifting her boot from the man's hand. Her dagger pointed directly at the terrified man's eye. Her demeanor turned suddenly from annoyed to darkly somber, and Kizea's eyes focused into a colder, angrier expression at the man.  
  
"You know who I am," she said in a low, menacing voice. The man nodded and began to shake.  
  
"I will return to this place. I swear a Fendowan oath to this" she whispered, "If ever I find you beating that boy or that horse again, there will be no haven far enough to hide you from ME. And when I am done with you, I shall hand you over to the Mirkwood elves, who hold no love for men!"  
  
The man gasped, jerking his now bloodied hand free, he scrambled backwards. He looked upwards to Legolas, who towered above him as he sat astride Neonean. Legolas grinned at the man, his eyes sparkled with an eerie translucent hue, and the man swallowed hard. The color drained away from his face as his eyes darted back at Kizea.  
  
"Do we understand one another?" Kizea whispered again. The man could only nod.  
  
"See that you do," Kizea whispered, "I give NO quarter to a deceiver, and there is no justice equaled to a Fendowan's!"  
  
Then making another hard fist, she landed it squarely on the man's chin again, and once again he fell backwards, unconscious. Kizea stood up and brushed her tunic off with her tiny fingers. As she walked back to her horse, she replaced her dagger in her waist belt, she rubbed her knuckle with her other hand. It stung and was beginning to swell again. Trying to conceal the pain, she gathered the reins of her horse, preparing to mount. However she was careful to grab the saddle horn with but three fingers and this did not escape Legolas's notice.  
  
Kizea was hardly aware of Legolas's amusement at the entire scene, but he clearly approved. To the elves, the race of men was but a fleeting entity in Middle-Earth. So few of them were extraordinary enough as to deserve an elf's attention, much less their time. Although the battle of Isodor had somewhat improved Legolas's opinion of them, (the few times that Legolas had come into contact with men was on the battlefield), he quickly digressed when confronted with the likes of this man. Filthy, cold hearted, and he clearly had no inclination to properly care for lesser beasts or children in his care. Lightly jumping to the horse's back, Kizea kicked her heels slightly and the horse walked on past Legolas. He only watched her go by quietly. For Kizea to bring a mortal prisoner to the elves for punishment was a ludicrous idea, the elves simply would not keep such a man imprisoned for such little reason within their realm. But then, he felt Kizea knew this too, and only said this to the man to frighten him all the more. For her part, Legolas had no doubts that she would keep her promise and return to check on the boy and the horse. He also had no doubts as to her willingness to dispatch the man if he did not hold up his end of the bargain. But Legolas remained somewhat confused by her behavior. It would have been easier just to kill the man outright, yet she had not done so. Within her, Legolas saw the capacity for mercy. In elven lore, this was a trait for which the Fendowan were NOT renowned. Kizea was slowly changing, and Legolas wondered if Kizea could feel it too.  
  
With the stranger, Kizea's threat had the intended effect. Legolas could see it in his eyes. The horror and fear he experienced was beyond anything he had ever known, and the elf knew that he would keep his word, if only to avoid seeing the Kizea again. Apparently he knew something of Fendowan oaths, and this also made Legolas curious. Where would such a mere mortal, obviously no king or person of importance, hear or know of Kizea? Neonean suddenly began to trot forwards, and the gray mare slowed down beside Kizea. The elf, still grinning, said nothing to her, but only looked beyond the crest of the hill where Tenmelion and Kerrinais patiently waited. For some moments, Kizea remained silent, and then she glanced sideways at Legolas's amused face.  
  
"I do not abide mistreatment of the weak," she told him with a frown. Legolas did not reply.  
  
Kicking her horse again, the girl trotted away down the road. Legolas watched her ride away from him, his lips still slightly curved upwards.  
  
"So it would seem," he said to himself, "So it would seem."  
  
He spoke quietly to Neonean and she trotted obediently towards the others.  
  
On the outskirts of the village stood a small tavern, The Winter Green's Gate. It was not so big a building, but there was a well to one side of it, the only one in the town. It was now nearing late afternoon, and the group had neither eaten nor had water for the entire day. Legolas surmised that Kizea had given the entire group's last loaf of lembas to the horse drawing the cart in the market. Kizea dismounted and pulled her horse to the well. She looked down into the well and sniffed at the air. Deciding the water was acceptable, Kizea lowered a worn, cracked wooden bucket into the well, and cranked the wooden arm until the bucket emerged from the depths, filled with cold, icy water. Her horse's eyes grew wide as she set the bucket down on the ground, and he gladly drank. By now, Legolas, Kerrinais and Tenmelion were also bringing their horses to the well.  
  
One or two men walking into the tavern slowed and watched the group distrustfully as they went by, but upon seeing Kizea's golden mask, lowered their gaze and hurried through the door. Finally, Kizea looked up at the tavern door and sighed slightly.  
  
"I must go in. You might stay here and tend to the horses if you will. The water from this well has always been fresh and cold."  
  
"You've been here before," Tenmelion said to her. It was one of the first times the elf had spoken to Kizea without a tone of sarcasm in his voice. Kizea looked beyond the elf towards the direction of the river, seemingly not hearing him. Turning about, the Fendowan began to walk away towards the tavern door.  
  
Legolas motioned for Kerrinais and Tenmelion to go with her.  
  
"I shall tend the horses. Be sure to watch her," he told them. Dipping the wooden bucket back into the depths of the well, the horses huddled around the elf as he brought another heaping bucket of icy water to the surface. The other elves nodded and followed in her footsteps. But when Kizea realized they were following her, she turned around in an attempt to dissuade them. Kizea had not intended to enter the tavern with 2 elves on her heels.  
  
"You need not look after me," she said exasperated, "Must you hover over my every footstep?"  
  
Kerrinais, who had always been an elf of good negotiation for the king, managed around the possible confrontation with Kizea.  
  
"Perhaps we can find some food and drink for ourselves," he told her. Kizea gazed at him, contemplating his words as though she were trying to make out the truth to his statement. Valnin had often told Kizea that the elves, above most other things, were incapable of lying. And in return, any other being was incapable of lying to the elves, for they merely had to look into one's eyes to learn the teller's truth or deception. Fendowans were of like mind then to the elves. They told naught but the truth, and as a Fendowan, would never break an oath but on pain of death.  
  
Kerrinais and Tenmelion stood before her expectantly. Finally, Kizea turned on her heel and continued to the tavern door.  
  
"Come then," she said, "Our road has been overlong, and will be longer before we are done. We will all find refreshment inside. I would not have you collapsing in this heat and have to return you to Mirkwood on my back."  
  
Had Kizea spoken such words to Kerrinais earlier, he would have been insulted by her insolence. Now he merely grinned slightly at her continued audacity, as he and Tenmelion followed her inside. As they walked through the door, Kizea's presence was not immediately noticed. But when the elves came inside, all manner of banter and eating halted. Looking behind her, Kizea noticed that her companions only stood just inside the doorway, and would venture no further into the room. The whole of the tavern was dimmed somewhat. As the shadows began to creep across the floor, the elves emanated their own light. They glowed, as would a lantern, bringing a sun like hue into the room. The two had left their longbows with their horses, but they were nevertheless armed with their elven long knives strapped to their backs in case of trouble. Kizea looked at them for only a second, but in that brief moment, she admired their long, fine platinum blond hair and their alabaster skin. Compared to the other rough clientele within the tavern, the elves appeared even more tall and menacing than usual.  
  
Kizea walked calmly up to the bar. Behind it stood an older man, though not elderly. He was sweating from the midday heat, and was wiping down a metal goblet with a dingy, gray cloth.  
  
"Four glasses of water if you will, and see to it that it is fresh," she said. He looked distrustfully at Kizea, and then at the elves. He walked to another section of the bar and returned shortly with a single goblet. He set it on the wooden bar before Kizea, and bowed to her, but she did not pick it up. Then he pointed to the back of the tavern where Kerrinais and Tenmelion stood.  
  
"I'll not serve their kind," he told Kizea bluntly. The man was clearly irritated.  
  
Instantly Kizea reached over the bar, grabbing the man by his shirt. Bracing her foot under the bar, she yanked back and dragged the surprised bartender over the bar, spilling the goblet of water. As he landed with a thud to the floor, she sputtered angrily:  
  
"You'll show them the respect they deserve!"  
  
When Kizea hauled the bartender onto the floor, Kerrinais's keen eyes discerned the thin outline of a small knife concealed within the palm of his right hand. Kerrinais thought to help the Fendowan, for he did not believe that Kizea knew he was armed. As he stepped forward, Tenmelion placed a hand on his arm and shook his head.  
  
"Wait a moment," he said quietly as he watched Kizea grapple with the man. Apparently, Tenmelion had also seen the knife.  
  
"He is armed and I do not believe she sees his weapon," Kerrinais replied, "Should we not come to her aid?"  
  
"I know, but it will not matter. She disarmed your sword from you, did she not? It is said the Fendowan render weapons useless in a battle. Let us see how well she fares."  
  
Kerrinais stepped back and the two watched the Fendowan with mild interest. Leaning back over to Tenmelion, Kerrinais said:  
  
"She DOES love a good fight. If she were only an elf, I would think I was beginning to admire her."  
  
Tenmelion nodded. All at once, Legolas appeared in the doorway. He saw Kizea, and then he looked at his companions, enjoying their newfound entertainment, and he was clearly irritated. But Tenmelion and Kerrinais were wrapped in fascination, and happy that someone else was on the receiving end of Kizea's annoyance for a change. Legolas looked at Kizea, frowning. He had not wanted to bring such attention to them, and her many indignant outbursts were beginning to wear on him. But he had not seen why the fight started, and therefore was unaware of Kizea's gesture on the elves behalf.  
  
And so the man struggled with Kizea, tipping over nearby chairs and tables as they rolled along the floor. They landed back to almost where they had begun, with Kizea finally gaining the upper hand and sitting on the man's chest. With renewed effort, he freed his right arm and thrust the tiny dagger towards her. At the last moment she saw the glint of metal and raised her hand in a defensive posture as the dagger pierced her palm. Better to sacrifice a hand then a vital organ, she thought. But she did not cry out. Instead, she reached down to the man's shirt and yanked him up, butting her head into his. Legolas was surprised by her choice of action. He had not thought of her gold mask to be anything but an ornament, and certainly not a weapon, but she clearly made use of every conceivable item available to her in a battle. The man fell back moaning, and Kizea sat back slightly, shaking her hand until the blade fell loose. Blood gushed down her arm. Then she turned her attentions back to the man. The elves could feel the anger within her at being wounded by such an unskilled, pathetic mortal. It was as though a sudden energy filled the room, and to the elves, it was as real as feeling the energy of the sun on their faces in the morning. Tenmelion leaned back over to Kerrinais.  
  
"NOW he will be in for it."  
  
Kerrinais nodded, although he would not divert his eyes from Kizea. He did not want to miss anything. Legolas, upon hearing their discourse, glanced disapproving at his two companions once again, but they seem didn't notice him. Lifting the semi-conscious bartender by the collar, Kizea clenched her bloodied fist. But before she laid a single blow, an old man came hobbling out from a back room and peered over the bar.  
  
"Here now! We'll have no fighting! Of course all your friends are welcome, Master Kizea. Here now, it is hard enough for me to run this place! Would you relieve me of all of my help? Let him go before you kill him. Then come sit down with an old man."  
  
Kizea stopped short and looked upwards. Muttering incoherently, she shoved him roughly back to the floor as she him go. Then the girl stood up, holding the end of her sleeve hard against her wounded hand. The bartender lay there for a moment, rubbing his chest where Kizea had held him until finally he pulled himself up and staggered angrily to a side door, brushing aside onlookers. He disappeared through the doorway, and did not return. Tenmelion leaned over to Kerrinais.  
  
"Now I am sure she has been here before," he whispered.  
  
The old man sat down at a small, round table in a far corner of the room and waited.  
  
Standing up, Kizea brushed the dirt from her tunic. Then with one graceful move, she hopped lightly over the bar. She walked a few feet and returned carrying four goblets, filled with icy water from the inside well. She placed them carefully on the bar, hopped back over, and picked up three. She stopped short when she saw Legolas standing in the doorway. He had seen the whole scenario. But this is not why Kizea stood dumbfounded. Suddenly, a picture came into Kizea's mind as she looked at the elf. A rush of fear and horror swept over her at seeing the elf as he stood there, and she could not move for some seconds. Just as quickly as it had begun, the feeling subsided. Kizea took a tentative step forward, not entirely sure that her feet would hold her up beneath her. She walked slowly past Legolas, to hand a goblet of water to Tenmelion, then to Kerrinais.  
  
Kerrinais slowly accepted the cup, but did not drink right away. He had felt Kizea's sudden terror at seeing Legolas in the doorway, and he was confused by her reaction. The elves quite frequently detected the feelings of others. That is, rather to say, the elves felt what others were feeling. But Kizea misunderstood Kerrinais hesitation, and with impish grin she threw one final taunt at Kerrinais before handing Legolas his goblet.  
  
"Drink my good elf." she said amiably, "It is not poisoned!"  
  
Kerrinais blinked, and watched her walk to Legolas, and then a small smile came to his face as he remembered his own similar taunt to her in the elven dungeons in Mirkwood. Kizea extended her last goblet to Legolas. He took it, but was obviously displeased. He glared, his lips pursed tightly. Kizea lowered her eyes, not wanting to see Legolas's angered expression any longer. She turned about to find where the old man had gone. At first glances, all she could see was the carnage in the room. Broken chairs and tables being picked up by disgruntled patrons. Ale and meat spilled onto the floor. Suddenly Kizea felt foolish for having caused such havoc, and she knew at once why Legolas had flashed such an ill-favored look at her. Walking to the back of the tavern, Kizea stopped before a small, round wood table where the old man sat. She pulled out wobbly chair and sat down.  
  
"You know why I have come?" Kizea began as she looked around the immediate area. No one else was near the table. The only ones interested in her discourse were the elves, who remained in the entryway to the tavern. Kizea felt that she could relax a bit.  
  
"Yes, yes," the old man said jovially, "I was told to look out for you. All is made ready. According to your wishes, your brother was taken to the vault in the hillside, just outside the town. He was laid there a little over a week ago. I AM sorry."  
  
Kizea stared aimlessly at a small notch in the table, saying nothing for a moment. Then she looked up at the man again. Close up his face clearly showed the wear of time. Aging lines wrinkled his face. His eyes were tired from endless toil and hardship; a short scar from some forgotten battle broke through his gray beard. But time meant little to Kizea. The stone had seen to that. In the ageless darkness of the thousand-stair cave, the Fendowan were renewed and rejuvenated each time they guarded it. It was as though time was halted for them.  
  
But for Valnin's sake, Kizea would never have ventured here. Still, Kizea liked this old man. She entertained the idea of becoming old herself. It was like wishing for a dream that could never come true. For all the bad things that had probably befallen the old man, he was happy and cheerful. He was not afraid of her presence as the others were. Yes, Valnin had chosen him wisely as an ally against a time of need.  
  
"And the others?" she asked, dipping her hand into her pocket.  
  
"The ones who came with your brother returned to mountains, as you instructed. But that other one, she only laughed. I didn't care for her. She was bent over and ugly as a wragged, evil orc, but lightening fast, and her hissing scared away my all my customers. No one came back for three days until they were sure she was gone. I didn't care for her at all."  
  
Leaning forward over the table, a sense of urgency penetrated Kizea's voice.  
  
"Hissing? This other one, the one that frightened you, which direction did she leave in? Tell me now!"  
  
"She, uh, well I believe she went north, with two others like her. All of them were evil looking if you asked me. I told her you'd not be pleased, Master Kizea," he said slowly, "She said she was inclined to hunting at the Eagle's Eyrie rather than sit in the woods. That's north of where Euphratas once stood. I told her that was Gwaihir's homeland and he wouldn't take kindly to her trespassing in his homeland, but she just laughed at me. Hissed and laughed."  
  
Kizea sat back in her chair contemplating the information for a moment. Melune was still unaware of Gwahir's intentions of finding Gandalf in Isodor. Perhaps the Windlord had unwittingly bought her some time. If Gwaihir had flown over Tuluth on his was to Isodor, she was certain the eagle would have turned north and then westward. It would make more sense for Gwaihir to take advantage of one of the various southern crossings. In making for the Pass of Balsor or the Redhorn Pass, he could best take advantage of the upward wind currents between the peaks. The northern passes were not so hospitable. Perhaps he was even aware that Melune was hunting him. Kizea's thoughts drifted back to the old man.  
  
"Two you said, are you sure of this? Were there not any orcs about?"  
  
The man looked at Kizea, suddenly alarmed.  
  
"I am just an old man my dear, but my eyes can still count! She left with two others like her and that is all. They rode north."  
  
"Melune has lost her orc slaves somehow in the dark recesses of Mirkwood," Kizea said to herself looking back at the elves, "For I know her. She would not split her force now, when she believes that victory is at hand. If fortune is with us, she still believes I am imprisoned in the elven stronghold."  
  
Legolas watched Kizea stand and plunk her bloodied hand on top of the table. The old man seemed intent on what was beneath her hand as she talked gently to him.  
  
"I give you many thanks for your help. Here is your promised payment," Kizea said lifting her hand. Underneath it were two iridescent pearls and a shimmering green stone. The man's eyes widened, and he quickly covered the jewels with his own wrinkled hand. Then he looked about the room to see if anyone else had spied the treasure, but no one had noticed, no one, that is, but Legolas.  
  
"See that my brother's body is looked after until I return," Kizea warned, "See that it is well-kept. Make sure!"  
  
The man slowly nodded and placed the gemstones in his pocket. Turning on her heel, Kizea walked across the floor. Legolas instinctively stepped aside and she walked by. Without further discourse, the elves followed her to where the horses were tied. They mounted and rode west, towards the Pass of Balsor, and beyond it, the woodlands of Tamlot and Isodor. 


	8. Remembering

The group rode onto the plain without further incident. Although the elves were normally of a quiet nature, they did speak to one another in whispered voices from time to time. Their hearing was so acute that they seldom spoke above a whisper when conversing. But it was nothing that concerned Kizea, who always rode out in front, away from the others. Happily, they followed closely to the river Gladden almost until the foothills of the mountains. There was plenty of water and fish from the river, though their supplies of berries and lembas had dwindled to nearly nothing. Legolas noticed how sullen Kizea had become as they drew nearer to the pass. He surmised, correctly, that the Fendowan encampments were hidden somewhere within the mountain range. It was another elven myth that gave rise to this philosophy, that the stone contained such power as to hide the entire area where it was hidden and guarded. But in actuality, the group was not approaching the mountain of Goldorma, but the cliff where Kizea had lost her brother, and first discovered Melune's treasonous intentions of the stone. The very thought of passing through the same country depressed her to the very depths of her heart. But it was a necessary evil. This particular route happened to be the quickest way through the Misty Mountains and to Isodor beyond. Her depression only served to renew her resolve to find the stone and put an end to Melune.  
  
Kizea had actually no intentions of making camp near the cliff that took her brother's life, but the night sky was widening above, and there was no moon. The path along the steep hillsides blended perfectly into the dimming color of the landscape. Further travel that night was impossible.  
  
"Stay here we must," Tenmelion said aloud to the group, "For the path grows treacherous, and we cannot risk traversing further without the light of day."  
  
Kerrinais dismounted and began to unpack his saddlebags, but Kizea looked off in the distance by the river. The falls echoes reverberated throughout the hills. She glanced over to Legolas, but he was dismounting Neonean as well. Feeling her gaze upon him, Legolas looked up expectantly at Kizea. By now she was staring off into the distance.  
  
"We should camp here tonight," Legolas said louder, drawing Kizea's attentions from the falls. With one final glance backwards, she sighed, dismounted, and silently began untying her saddlebags. Kerrinais and Tenmelion volunteered to walk a perimeter, and guard the campsite that evening. Legolas stood lazily against a tree, listening to the quiet breeze. He thought to question Kizea about the man in the tavern, but her behavior was so oddly silent, that he decided against it. Kizea sat sullen, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring into the large campfire. As the night dwindled on, Legolas left the camp to find firewood and also to check on his companions from whom he had not heard in some hours. When he returned, Kizea was gone.  
  
Normally, the elves slept little. This was especially true of those elves that wandered the wild lands in Middle-Earth, for there was little telling from where the next attack might come. Since Rakal's defeat, orcs still wandered in the countryside, causing havoc and general chaos wherever they may. But the road from the borders of Mirkwood had been long and hard. Tenmelion's horse had injured her leg in the muddy sludge of the Anduin. The crossing, slightly north of the river gladden at the height summer, became little more than a muddy roe until it filled once again with its sister river. Tenmelion walked beside the horse for several days until her tendon improved. Food and water had been scarce until they came to the village outside of Tuluth. The heat and blistering sun was taking its toll on everyone. That night, the cool mountain breeze was a welcome reprieve to everyone. Legolas actually thought to rest a bit before beginning the journey again the next day. He did. Leaning against a youngish tree, Legolas drifted off to sleep, and slept the better part of the night with his eyes open and his hand resting upon his Mirkwood longbow. It gave the appearance that he was armed and waiting for trouble. No one interrupted his rest.  
  
He awoke sluggishly the following morning, just as the pink and gray rays of the sun were peeking over a distant horizon. He looked about the camp. Tenmelion was busily packing his saddle pack. The fire had gone cold sometime during the night, but no one had been there to tend it. Kerrinais and Kizea were nowhere in sight. Upon questioning Tenmelion, Legolas headed in the direction of the falls where Tenmelion had seen Kerrinais wandering earlier. But Tenmelion had not seen Kizea all night.  
  
The nearer Legolas drew to the falls, the denser the foothill woods became, until it was nearly a forest, cut through the middle by the Gladden River. He approached quickly and silently until he saw Kerrinais peering around a well-aged tree with a thick, mossy trunk. He walked quickly to his friend. Kerrinais, in seeing Legolas, motioned his head towards the falls. Glancing over to where Kerrinais directed, he saw first the outline of three horses, standing still and silent. Moaanen, Kerrinais's own horse, had somehow loosened her reins and stood silently beside the rest, her reins dangling from her halter to the ground. On the edge of the cliff, was Kizea, on her knees, staring off into the distance.  
  
"She's been there since last night," Kerrinais said quietly in elvish to his companion, "Look at this, the horses are following her like ducklings to their mother. I find it hard to fathom that they are taken to her as they have."  
  
"It is time to leave," Legolas replied, "I'll retrieve her."  
  
Kerrinais nodded and retreated back in the direction of the camp. Even though the sound of the falls crashed around them, Kizea turned her head as Legolas drew near. Then she stared off into the distance again.  
  
"I know what you would say to me," she began, "That I am too quick to anger, and I should ignore the little offenses that men would bestow upon me. And perhaps you are right. By acknowledging their discourtesy I dishonor the Fendowan order and the stone, and I draw too much attention to our quest. And you would be right, Legolas. For my own reputation I vow I will no longer put us at peril."  
  
Legolas walked up beside her and squatted down.  
  
"No, that is not what I would say to you," Legolas replied gently. Kizea turned her head to stare at him. She had expected his reproach for her fight in the tavern for three days, yet it had never come. Seldom was Legolas so physically close to the girl. He looked into her eyes, beyond the mask and could perceive right away that she had been weeping. He gazed at the rim of her golden mask. All around it was pockmarked in the gold were the holes where Kizea had pried away gemstones with her daggers. He no longer wondered where she came by the stones that she gave to his father, King Thranduil, or the boy in the town, or the tavern keeper. She was spending the Fendowan wealth to gain information, and to help the impoverished. On the other side, her mask remained intact. The green jewels and pearls sparkled in the morning light. He quickly looked away out to the falls. The perpetual mist emanating from the falls refracted a magnificent rainbow in the morning sun.  
  
"Look," he smiled pointing to the rainbow, "It reminds me of the waterfalls of Imladris. They are truly a sight to behold."  
  
Kizea stared blankly at the multitude of colors.  
  
"It reminds me only of death," she said bitterly. Legolas frowned.  
  
"Something has happened, what is it?"  
  
For some moments she did not speak. Off in the distance, she could hear Tenmelion whistling to the horses. All had returned to camp except Neonean, who remained stubbornly with Kizea and Legolas.  
  
"On this precipice I lost my brother to Melune's treachery." she told him, "He was thrown from this cliff by one of her orcs and met his end on the jagged rocks below. Here her intentions of the sacred stone were made known to me, and all that I have lived for and vowed to protect was laid broken."  
  
"Your brother?" Legolas said surprised, "But the Fendowan have no family. Or that is what I have heard."  
  
"I only knew him as my brother because he told me as much," Kizea said softly, "He brought me to the stone and it revived me to its servitude. And the stone also accepted my brother, an honor to be sure, but he was not; I mean to say, it did not erase his mind as it did my own."  
  
Legolas placed a thin, slender hand upon her shoulder.  
  
"We will recover the Stone of Anor and we will find your brother's killer," he said intently.  
  
Kizea looked back at him, tears welled in her eyes.  
  
"It's not that," she whispered to him. Her voice began to break and she waited a moment to recover herself. She felt ashamed for what she was about to say.  
  
"When I was brought to the stone's service it wiped away all knowledge of my previous life. And I had a life. I am sure of it. When my brother perished, it was as though the last vestiges of my existence were gone with him. Now I hold no hope of knowing who or what I was."  
  
"And you would remember your previous life? Do you even care about such things and did your brother never reveal anything to you?" Legolas said sympathetically.  
  
Kizea shut her eyes and smiled sadly. The elf's eyes drifted to Kizea's tunic, her fingers were gently stroking something beneath the rough cloth, but she did not produce the object.  
  
"To be sure, there was a time when such matters did not hold so large a place in my heart. Valnin offered to disclose the details of my life and my..." her voice trailed off. She was quiet for some seconds before beginning anew.  
  
"But it was I who would never hear of it. He spoke to me in such fragments as to confuse me entirely. Now that I am returned and am riding through the open land, and breathing the free air, I yearn to know the whole of it." Kizea stopped short. She breathed.  
  
"I am seeing small bits and pieces, as though it is trying to come back to me, the well in that town. I knew it was there, but I have no memory of being there before."  
  
"And the tavern keeper, did you remember him?" he asked. Kizea smiled weakly.  
  
"No. When Valnin perished I bid the Fendowan who remained loyal to take him to Tuluth. They told the tavern keeper to expect me. Then they returned to the Fendowan encampments. At least they might find some peace living there. When I recover the stone I shall return to Tuluth and bring my brother to life again. Then he and I will return to the encampments together, and I will be content."  
  
Legolas's eyes widened.  
  
"You have sworn to bring the stone to my father!" he said suddenly. Kizea smiled, gently placing her hand on his. It was a tiny and seemingly frail hand. Her touch was soft and luxurious to him, and the feeling of it almost startled him.  
  
"And so I shall," she replied, "But we must pass through Tuluth on the return journey, and I should like to see my brother alive again. That is the stone's blessing and disgrace, Legolas. It will bring to life any dead thing that touches it, from the highest wizard to the lowliest demon, but I bid you, fear not of my intentions, good elf. For I grow weary of this chase already. At this moment, if I could be relieved of this duty that was thrust upon me I would gladly give it up. I would deliver the stone to your father and let him be drawn into slavery in my place. Still, even you must agree, Legolas, that the only place for the Anor stone is where Melune may never again lay eyes on it. That is where I shall gladly relinquish it. The stone must be set in a place where it is rendered useless to her, for I do not believe there is a way to kill her. And she will always search for it. But here and now, I would only know who I was, and what became of me."  
  
Legolas stared at her with pity in his eyes. Again, Tenmelion called out over the hills. Kizea turned her head and she knew their conversation must be cut short. But Legolas, filled with curiosity of what she had told him, thought to linger a moment longer, and he remained still.  
  
"Do you remember anything else?" he asked Kizea. She remained pensive for a few minutes, and spoke.  
  
"I don't know if you could call it remembering exactly," she told him, "Rather they are images in my mind. I see an older man, in fine robes sitting before a grand fireplace with me. I have seen a bit of jewelry in my mind, and a sword, and red eyes of terror. I have come to believe that I lived in Tuluth, and that when Rakal the Destroyer ransacked the city 10 years ago. That is how I met my end. And I even believe I must have married. Could you ever believe such an incredible thing?"  
  
Legolas did not know what to say to her.  
  
"You are living proof that the stone of Anor exists," Legolas smiled gazing at her, "Until now, it was merely myth to the wood elves. I can believe anything you would tell me. Do you know what became of your family? Did your brother tell you that much?"  
  
Kizea slowly shook her head.  
  
"I know nothing. My brother was sworn to the stone's service, as was I, and being such, neither of us thought of anything but the stone. All other considerations were insignificant and unnecessary to us. Perhaps he meant to spare me the knowledge of my family's fate. I have but one image that I return to over and over. My husband. The picture in my mind is so real that I cannot seem erase it from my thoughts. I can almost see him standing now before me..." her voice trailed off again as though she were in a trance.  
  
"What do you see?"  
  
"A man," she replied, "I see him standing in a stream, tall and noble. He is a being of the light and the earth. He is both handsomest and bravest at one time. The sun is shining behind his flaxen head in unparalleled beauty. The very rays of the sun stream from his head and we gaze at each other, and it overwhelms me, but then the image always fades from my mind. If only I could see his face once more! If only he knew I was alive again!"  
  
"Perhaps your travels will take you to him someday," Legolas replied as he stood upright and looked back in the direction of the camp, "I do not think destiny would part two hearts that have managed to overcome even death."  
  
Legolas's thoughtfulness and sympathy were comforting to her. Kizea stood and stretched her legs. They had become sore and quite stiff from sitting in one position all night.  
  
"I thought you would laugh at me, my good elf," she smiled as she brushed her tunic with her left hand, "I suppose it is a woman's folly to hold onto love even after she is dead!"  
  
Legolas began walking away from the cliff. He lightly patted Neonean on her flank as he passed by, and she obediently turned and followed him away from the river.  
  
"I could never laugh at a love that death has parted," he said solemnly, "For even as love perceives no limitations, I can tell you truly, neither does grief. I am sure your betrothed, wherever he may be, grieves for you even now."  
  
The two made their way through the forest back to the camp where Kerrinais and Tenmelion waited. All was packed and ready. Legolas grabbed hold of Neonean's flowing mane and hopped onto her back. But he saw how Kizea had trouble mounting her own horse. She pulled herself to her mount using only her left hand. Her right hand, which was covered with a linen bandage, betrayed only three red and swollen fingers underneath. Kizea was careful not to bump her hand on anything. But once she was astride her horse, Kizea kicked her heels and the animal's sides and the group was off again. 


	9. Legolas's Lament

The group now traveled west over the Pass of Balsor, traversing the rocky, snowy slopes for 3 long days. Although the landscape was somewhat unforgiving, a fire was always procured at night to stave off the cold in the high elevations. It was a stark contrast to the blistering heat of the valley, one extreme to another. Water and fish were plentiful in the icy mountain streams. Kizea said no more to Legolas of her heart's desire, and had, in fact, felt embarrassed by her discourse with him. It was behavior most unbecoming of a Fendowan. To Legolas's credit, he said nothing to the others of it.  
  
Sometime in the afternoon on the fourth day, they completed the crossing and arrived at the foothills just beyond Hollin Ridge. Kizea had become even more anxious to make all possible speed to the woodlands of Tamlot, (and the former elven stronghold of Isodor) in order to find the wizard Gandalf. She felt that her quest was finally drawing to a close. And if Kizea's spirits were high again at the thoughts of finding the stone at long last, Legolas had grown equally as depressed at the thoughts of approaching Isodor and Imladris. He stopped Neonean often to graze, and slowed the whole troop to a crawl, and was frequently dismal and sullen. At night he walked away from the camp and did not return until the group was readying to leave the following day. Time dragged on for all of them.  
  
At last they entered the dense and dark forest of Tamlot, where the brunt of the Battle of Isodor was fought 10 years earlier. The overgrowth of trees had long erased all physical signs of the battle, but for those who were present, it was a grim reminder of that savage, bloody afternoon. It was the day when the vicious orc captain Rakal had nearly exterminated his first of all the elven strongholds. Tenmelion had not been there, but Legolas and Kerrinais had, and indeed, all three elves could almost feel the presence of the slain within the ancient forest. They rode along in single file, for there was little room for their horses to ride side-by- side. Kizea rode in front of the line, and each elf took note of her uneasy, nervous countenance. Her head often jerked from one side to the other, and she frequently looked up into the trees as if she half expected something to fall on her.  
  
"Should we not split up?" Tenmelion asked as they proceeded deeper into the forest, "Perhaps it will be easier to find Mithrandir if we break into smaller search parties."  
  
Kizea turned herself abruptly around in her saddle. Even at a whisper, Kizea had heard him. Legolas did not give her the chance to speak against the idea.  
  
"That will not be necessary," Legolas replied, "I think he must know by now we are looking for him. We should camp on the outskirts of the woods this night, and if Mithrandir is nearby, he will find our fire."  
  
"I do not think it would be wise to split our group either," commented Kizea loudly, "There is more strength in four than one or two."  
  
Legolas and Kerrinais were both surprised by Kizea. Never before had she suggested the need for safety in numbers, and Kerrinais wondered if perhaps she knew something that she wasn't telling them. For Legolas and Kerrinais, there was merely the memory of the battle in which they fought so violently. But for Kizea, it was more of a menacing undercurrent of emotion welling inside of her that she could not explain. The elves could not see all of her fear, but within the deep of the forest, her senses heightened to a level that she had seldom known before.  
  
Later that night, on the border country just outside the great forest, a camp was prepared. Legolas and Tenmelion went to the woods to gather firewood. Kizea and Kerrinais tended the horses and set them out to graze in the luxurious summer fields. But no sooner had their work been completed, when Kizea excused herself and left the warmth and security of the fire.  
  
Returning to the encampment from the forest, Tenmelion questioned Legolas of their need to go to Rivendell next should their search for Gandalf in Isodor prove fruitless. Legolas simply replied that he would be inclined to send Kerrinais along with him, and spoke no further on the subject. Legolas's friends would sometimes speculate in regards Legolas's depressed change of character following the Battle of Isodor. Many of his companions noticed the difference. For an elf used to war, depression seemed like a particularly odd sort of behavior. The elves had seen so many battles in their ancient existences, that fighting and killing was no longer a coil upon them.  
  
If Kerrinais were present, he would tell them that the road had been especially long and hard for their companion, especially regarding the loss of Illdinar, their mutual close childhood friend. He would tell them that Legolas simply was not reconciled yet to Illdinar's death. Kerrinais explained when he and Legolas traveled hence to Rivendell to gather strength for the impending battle at Isodor, it was, at least for Legolas, particularly grievous because Illdinar had loved Rivendell so. In truth, Kerrinais never mentioned Lisaine to any of them, as it would not be proper to discuss success a private subject openly. And even Legolas had only confided his feelings briefly to Kerrinais during the long march to Isodor.  
  
Away from the trees, Legolas could see the little campfire dancing merrily. They were just coming out of the deep of the forest with armloads of wood for the night. The darkened sky was brilliant with stars and nearly a full moon. Even away from the fire, the outline of the landscape and the abandoned castle in the distance were in plain view.  
  
"We will not all go?" Tenmelion repeated. The elf remained blithely unaware of Legolas's past. It was, in fact, barely tolerable for Legolas to be in Isodor at all. Like Kizea's sad memories of Valnin at the cliff, his own recollections of Nevariel faded back to that disastrous day on the battlefield and his renewed grief haunted him without mercy. He was determined not to subject himself to the memories that would befall him in Rivendell, where he had first met her and spent his happiest moments.  
  
"No," he replied, "I will go with the Fendowan to the Eyries in the North. If by some chance Gandalf knows that Gwaihir is seeking him, he might journey there. You and Kerrinais may go to Imladris without me."  
  
They walked into the camp, dumping their armloads of broken wood to the ground. Kerrinais sat before the fire, polishing his sword with a fine linen cloth. Legolas looked about the area with mild concern.  
  
"Where is Kizea?" he asked, "She should not wander too far from camp."  
  
"Did you not see her when you returned from the forest?" Kerrinais replied, "She is over there."  
  
He motioned to the edge of the trees with a nod of his head. Legolas turned around to see where two horses grazed aimlessly. His eyes caught sight of a solitary glint in the darkness. His eyes rose up the trunk of an enormous oak and there in the uppermost branches, huddled with her knees to her chest, sat Kizea. Legolas shot a worried glance back at Kerrinais.  
  
"I cannot say why either," Kerrinais said as he held his sword out. He admired the shimmering glint of the blade in the moonlight, "A fabled warrior who fears neither death nor peril. It seems there are still unseen things in the world that frighten even her. Do you suppose she was involved in the battle here years ago and we did not know of it?"  
  
Tenmelion, unconcerned, began to pile the logs a few feet from the fire. It was innate in elven nature to stay busy, however simple the task. They seldom were still or caught unaware. Legolas furrowed his brow as he slowly set down his wood.  
  
"No. The Fendowan care nothing for the elves. Their only purpose is to serve protector to the Stone of Anor. She was not there. Though I suppose I must get her down before I go to the castle."  
  
Kerrinais's glance shot up in surprise.  
  
"Please do not Legolas." Kerrinais exclaimed, "I would not have you return to that place. There is nothing in Isodor for either of us now. I cannot bring myself to go."  
  
"And I would not beg you to accompany me," Legolas said starting out, "But I must sing to her memory. I owe her that much."  
  
Legolas left his companions at the camp and crossed over the soft hillside grasses towards the tree line. Neonean and Moaanen stood quietly munching on the fresh green chutes below the tree where Kizea sat. Legolas patted Neonean on the neck when he approached the tree, taking a moment to smile at her and whisper an elvish greeting. She lifted her head, her long mane falling about her eyes. He peered up beyond the thick branches, where Kizea was staring back at him from the canopy.  
  
"You should be closer to camp," he said loudly, "I cannot guess what things might be lurking in the treetops here at night."  
  
Kizea immediately jerked her head about in dismay, her iron grip on the tree trunk softened. Smiling, Legolas walked calmly away from the trees towards the gutted remains of the castle. Following his footsteps, Kizea watched him silently as he disappeared over a hill. For some time, she remained in the tree, stuck within its heights. Despite Legolas, it was a comfort somehow to her, and deep inside she loathed the thought of sitting at the camp with Kerrinais and Tenmelion, who had become less and less tolerant of her since entering Tamlot. Neither elf bothered to attempt talking her down from her perch, they merely continued on with their chores and perimeter checks as though she wasn't even there. Towards dawn, as light was beginning to peak over the mountains far to the east, Kizea finally resolved to leave the safety of the tree.  
  
But Legolas had not returned that night, and she was curious as to where he might have gone. A sudden, terrible thought entered her mind that perhaps he had found Melune somewhere over the mist covered hills and his companions, too wrapped up in their own duties, had failed to notice. Suddenly gasping, she quickly descended the tree until she was only about 15 feet from the ground. She scanned the area until she espied a clear patch of ground. Kizea leaped into the air and somersaulted twice before landing perfectly on her feet. Drawing both daggers, she sprinted away in the last direction she had seen Legolas strolling. Only looking briefly over to the smoldering campfire. Neither Tenmelion nor Kerrinais were there. She presumed they were on another patrol, and she thought no more of it.  
  
1/2 hour later, Kizea stood before the opened drawbridge to the castle. Much of building lay in ruins. What Rakal's army had not destroyed earlier was later laid to ruin by men, seeking a treasure that the orc captain was rumored to have carried with him. Kizea stood inspecting the damage. She had hoped that Legolas had not entered the castle, for she had no fondness of walking into a place where she might easily be trapped. Of course, sometimes that was a necessary evil to achieve her goal of locating the stone, such was her misadventure in King Thranduil's underground realms. Here though, she saw no use in it straight away. Surveying the landscape, Kizea saw no sign of the elf Legolas, and at length she decided to walk the perimeter of the castle before entering. Turning the northeast corner, Kizea stopped. A soft, delicate elvish whisper came to her ears. It was almost a chant of sorts. She took a step closer, trying to discover its source in the heavy fog. Suddenly her eyes caught sight of a faint light, almost glowing in the mist, and she hurried her steps to its source.  
  
At last she made out the thin outline of the elf. He was sitting upon his knees, on the edge of a rocky ravine, whispering quietly. In one hand he held an arrow, in the other his sword, Menea, the magical elven sword that Legolas had recovered when his friend, Illdinar, had fallen to Rakal's hordes at Euphratas. Until then, the sword, which perpetually glowed for its elven owners, had belonged to Illdinar. But when Illdinar perished, Legolas took Menea for his own as a sign of respect and solemnity. Legolas would carry his own sword and Menea with him until the end of his days.  
  
Upon seeing the elf, Kizea looked about the area and then up to the battlement directly above. Her eyes slowly descended the thirty-odd feet to the ground below, almost exactly where Legolas was now positioned and a shudder went through her. She vaguely realized that just as she had mourned her brother at the falls, so too was Legolas mourning for the loss of a loved one. But Kizea did not comprehend the extent of the elf's grief. If she had, she would have respected his stance of devotion, and left him to his prayers. But the Fendowan had little experience with elves, and she thought to comfort him.  
  
Kizea liked the elf. Indeed, there was little to dislike. He was of a similar mind regarding animals and men. He was brave in nature, yet showed compassion for her on several occasions. And Legolas was unusually handsome. All the elves were, in fact, beautiful physically. But Legolas had some other ethereal quality about him that the others of his kind did not possess. Kizea could not put her finger on it exactly. When he talked to her he seemed to look beyond her mask. For this reason, Kizea often found herself diverting her eyes when they conversed. For any other elf, these would just be common discourses, but with Legolas, it seemed more than that, and Kizea was often left uneasy. His serious blue eyes often stared as though he gazed right through her, even though he would look directly at her.  
  
Kizea was also not of elven kind. As a Fendowan, she had thought herself superior well beyond all other races. But the further they progressed on their journey, the more the elves captivated her interest. It seemed Valnin had been somewhat over prejudiced in his negative appraisal of the elves. Kizea likened them more and more to a truly superior race in their own rite, and thought perhaps with much training and hard work one or two would even make good Fendowans. Perhaps. Walking slowly behind the silent elf, Kizea placed a tiny hand on his shoulder. The softness of his green suede jerkin brushed over her fingers, sending a tingle up her arm. Legolas did not notice her, or if he had, he did not stop his chant. Standing behind him for some moments, Kizea finally spoke.  
  
"I am sorry for your loss, my friend. He must have been an extraordinary elf to warrant such a prayer. I am aware that Rakal has set foot on these lands and that many fell here to his deceit and wretchedness. I know that mine is not the only heart in the world that bears a scar."  
  
Legolas finished the prayer, and then stopped. Lifting his head slightly, he opened his eyes and gazed at the ground.  
  
"Not an elf," he said almost imperceptibly. He surprised Kizea, and she leaned in further.  
  
"What?" she asked.  
  
"She was not an elf," he whispered, "She was a queen of valor and devoted to the elves. She sacrificed her army to the grim task of stopping Rakal the Destroyer, just as she sacrificed her life through her love for me. I was unable to save her before she fell to Rakal. She was captured and he thought to turn her and her army against the elves, but she would not relent. Here she fell. Here was the last place I saw ever her. Before I could take her to wife, before I even knew her real name."  
  
"But," Kizea replied thinking back to his happy countenance before a tiny, shimmering dancing elf-maid in Kind Thranduil's feasting chamber, "Perhaps, someday, you would take another to wife. Even a queen of men cannot endure in timelessness as the elves can."  
  
Legolas's head turned slightly to the side, although he did not look at the girl.  
  
"For me, there can only be her," he replied looking down, "I can have no other."  
  
Kizea's hand slipped away from his shoulder and it fell to her side.  
  
"Come Legolas, the sun is rising, and I have need to find Gandalf. If indeed he is here."  
  
But Legolas did not stir, but began to chant silently again. Pursing her lips, Kizea turned and began to walk away, before she turned again to make one last effort.  
  
"Legolas please do not grieve so. Though short it would seem, you were still come to spend some happy moments with her. So few of us even know a moment of such love with another. It does not come often. Abhorrent as the race of men can be to me, I still admire their appreciation of those things you and I take for granted. Be thankful for the time you have had. Relish in your moments, though they are endless as the dawn, for all are precious and none might be replaced. I think she would not have you waste your moments and grieve as this on her behalf."  
  
Kizea continued to walk away when she heard Legolas faintly say,  
  
"Perhaps she would not."  
  
Legolas took one last look at the ground and extended his hand, placing it palm down on the cold ground. He then lifted his hand and stood up, replacing his sword in a sheath on his back, and then returning his elven arrow to his quiver. Kizea stood waiting expectantly as Legolas walked up to her. But without further discourse he walked by her as though she was not there at all. She stood watching him walk away, not the proud champion of Mirkwood, but with slumped shoulders and head bowed. When he cleared the crest of the hill, she followed, away from the ravine and his memories. 


	10. A Healing Moment

The two walked silently away from the castle, across the low hills towards the campsite. Tenmelion and Kerrinais had already returned, astride their mounts. When they saw Legolas and Kizea, both galloped off to meet them. Pulling hard on the reins of Moaanen, Kerrinais was first to stop. Moaanen was fidgety coming from the forest, and reared on her hind legs. Gently patting her neck, Legolas looked up at the elf.  
  
"What news?" Legolas asked looking at his friend, "Have you found Mithrandir?"  
  
"Nay," he replied looking back to the forest, "All is quiet. Are you sure Mithrandir is come here?"  
  
Legolas sighed as he gazed over the mist. Only now were the sun's rays beginning to burn off the fog of the morning, revealing a spectacular open field with flowers and rambling hills. Legolas tried not to think of the lush greenery transformed into a savage battlefield. Kerrinais too surveyed the area as if he were in another place and time. Kizea knew that both elves had been indelibly marred by the battle. She could understand Legolas, but Kerrinais was somewhat more introverted and spoke little of his past while in her presence. She finally decided it was not worth the effort, and fixed her concentration on more serious matters.  
  
"We must do SOMETHING," she said losing her patience, "If the wizard is in the area, then we MUST find him. I will ride forth to the northwest, along the Bruinen. He is, I presume, like most creatures? In need of food and water? Perhaps I shall find him along the river's edge, or in the other elven city you spoke of, what was it? Imladris?"  
  
Both Legolas and Kerrinais glanced sideways at each other.  
  
"We all may ride north along the river, four sets of eyes are better than one," Tenmelion said, "And I don't suppose you have better than an elf's vision when hiding behind a mask."  
  
Kizea was annoyed.  
  
"I need no help," she replied angrily, "Go where you will, but my horse is bent on the Bruinen and Imladris."  
  
Indeed, the bickering within the group had subsided greatly in the short time they were riding together, but not completely. Yet, in this sorrowful place, Kerrinais had grown tired of all the discord. Legolas was not the only elf in the group that had lost a loved one in the battle at Isodor. Kerrinais's own sister, Alneinwen, who rode side-by-side with the queen, had also fallen to Rakal. In an unusual bid for peace within the group, Kerrinais, spoke up.  
  
"He is right about one thing Kizea, all of us looking may bring about better results. In any case, you are now wandering in elf lands, although it may not seem like it. You should at least have some company that might explain away your presence. Legolas and I are well known here. I do not know if Gandalf has passed this way or no, but one thing I am certain of, come alone to Imladris, you would find less of a welcome than you did in Mirkwood."  
  
Kizea's eyed raised. The Mirkwood elves, then, were not the most inhospitable of their kind? It was finally agreed that they should ride north along the magical elven river, the Bruinen, which itself runs through the elven city of Rivendell, home of Lord Elrond. Legolas actually had no intentions of journeying to Rivendell, but he had also decided not to break up the group at that time. His plans were to continue to the Eyries to find Gwaihir the Windlord, who, as far as they all knew, was transporting the Stone of Anor to Gandalf, seeking his council. None of the group had seen Gwaihir fly overhead, which was a discouraging sign to all. Gwaihir was not in the area looking for Gandalf, which led the elves to believe they were searching for the wizard in the wrong vicinity.  
  
It was an eight day journey from Isodor to Rivendell, and Legolas thought to leave the group on the fourth or fifth day, circumventing the city and traversing the High Pass with Kizea in tow; the north-most crossing over the Misty Mountains. Once across, they would be but 3 or 4 days journey to the Eyries, if they could make it that far. There were but four ways to cross the mountain chain, which cut across Middle-Earth, North to South. Legolas was certain that Gandalf had not journeyed to the Gap of Rohan, nor to Moria, the ancient city of the dwarves, rumored to have lately been peopled with Sauron's goblins. He shuddered thinking about Moria, and quickly blotted the thought from his mind. Thus far, they had not crossed paths with Gandalf over the Pass of Balsor. The only way left then was the High Pass, with it's treacherous snow-capped peaks and bitterly cold winds.  
  
However, the elves thought little of the weather. Snow or rain or heat of day had little effect on them, but Kerrinais and Legolas both had noticed Kizea's reactions to the blistering heat on the Anduin plains. Although she attempted not to show it, she wiped the sweat from her neck often during the heat of the day or huddled close to the fire at night. Despite all of the elven rumors regarding the indestructibility of Fendowan warriors, she did eat and sleep and bruise. The elves surmised that Kizea was, in fact, entirely mortal. Legolas and Kerrinais both wondered secretly if Kizea knew.  
  
The days were cooler now in the higher elevations, and the Kizea was grateful. Her injured hand, which had been merely an annoyance in Tuluth, was now burning and swollen. Her fingers could hardly bend, and she kept her hand concealed under her tunic or underneath her long shirtsleeve in a bid to keep the elves from discovering her weakness. Dislocating her finger had been only painful, but the knife wound she had sustained at the tavern was worse. She often felt sick to her stomach, and sweaty. She was losing what little appetite she had, and she was lethargic. She realized she had to do something or she would soon collapse. To be attacked by Melune or one of her the other Fendowan in such a condition would be certain death. So that first night away from Isodor, after the horses had been groomed and fed, the firewood gathered, and the elves left to make their rounds of the surrounding perimeter, she retreated secretly in the direction of the river, and she did so for several nights thereafter.  
  
Little time was actually spent at their campsites. Almost as soon as it was set, the elves left and searched the surrounding areas for signs of the wizard, or Melune. When the elves departed from camp, Kizea would either ride to the river or walk, depending on the river's nearness. Here she attempted to heal her hand. Leaning over a boulder on her stomach, she gingerly dipped her fingers into the elven river, which was rumored to have healing powers. The water was cold, and it stung the tips of her fingers at first. But as she held her hand beneath the water, a sense of calm seemed to come over her, and her mind began to drift to the mesmerizing sounds of the current rushing over other boulders in the river's path.  
  
"You'll not get better that way," Legolas said stepping up to her, "I believe I can help you."  
  
Kizea's attention snapped back as she jerked her hand from the water. She watched the elf calmly wade directly into the river until the water was up to his hips. He stood there, his hand outstretched to her. Although the moon was only halfway visible, there was no cloud cover that night. It reflected brightly upon the water, betraying its exact likeness in areas where the current was not strong. Legolas too, being an elf, emanated his own light from his body. He was a lantern in the middle of a magical river on a moonlit night, the fairest of all the Mirkwood elves. It was a picture from which the Fendowan could not remove her gaze and Kizea watched him with fascination. A vague memory came to her mind, one that had troubled her over and over along their journey. She began to think of the same image of a man, a lover from a previous existence, standing perched upon a rock in the middle of a stream, and she gasped. Kizea realized that the man in her vision was not a man, but most likely an elf. But she had no room in her life for now for such revelations, if indeed they were true. And as quickly as she had the revelation, it was gone from her thoughts.  
  
"Come," Legolas said amiably, "You must speak the elven chant, or your hand will never be healed by the water."  
  
Kizea watched him another instant, and then slowly stood up. She dipped her feet hesitantly into the water and walked up to Legolas, careful to keep a respectable distance from him. The grip of the icy water made her breath deeply, but she was determined not to show her weaknesses in front of the elf. She placed her swollen hand into his. Gently, he pulled her closer to him. Legolas was smiling at her, but it slowly left his face when he saw the infection in Kizea's hand.  
  
"Why did you say nothing?" he asked her frowning.  
  
"I did not think it urgent enough to warrant the attention," Kizea replied, "Our goal is to find the eagle or the wizard and thereby the stone, everything else is unimportant."  
  
"It will do you no good to die from a fever. You must be smarter than this," he admonished.  
  
Kizea looked away from him and sighed. Legolas placed his other hand over Kizea's, so that her own tiny hand was sandwiched between his own. It brought Kizea's attention back to the task at hand, and she looked at his handiwork with curiosity. Dipping their combined hands below the water level, Legolas closed his eyes and began whispering an elven chant over and over. Much to her amazement, their hands and the water surrounding them began to radiate. Strange warmth penetrated her icy fingers and began rising up the length of her arm. Immediately her injured limb began to feel much improved. Kizea remained still, feeling the firm grasp of Legolas's hands over hers. They remained like that for a full 10 minutes, with Legolas chanting and Kizea standing silent. It gave her a marvelous opportunity to look closely at his perfect face in the moonlight. At length, he slowly opened his eyes and reluctantly let go of her hand. The light that had shone about them like a beacon in the middle of the river waned and quickly disappeared altogether. Lifting her hand up in front of her face, Kizea tried moving her fingers. To her surprise, they responded normally, the swelling was nearly gone. She looked back at Legolas incredulous and realized they were standing so close to one another that they were nearly touching. It was an awkward moment for Kizea.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered to the elf, "I did not think such healing was possible but for the stone."  
  
"Your hands are so small and delicate," Legolas blurted out softly, "I think my eyes deceive me when I look upon their owner; that they should belong to such a hardened warrior. I knew someone once whose hands were like yours, so small and delicate. Hers were softer than the most delicate flower. I thought I should never feel such things again."  
  
Kizea could not escape the elf's gaze. He held her as a prisoner for that moment, for she did not wish to look away from him. Slowly the elf raised his hand as though he would brush it across Kizea's mask, but in an instant she lurched back away from him.  
  
"Thank you for the help," she stammered, turning back towards the shore, "We must return to the camp now, for our day will be long tomorrow."  
  
Legolas stood watching her make her way onto to the embankment, dripping wet. By now the water had entirely soaked through their clothes, and Kizea was wet from head to toe. When she reached the shoreline, she turned back, waiting for him to follow suit, which he did. They walked back through the woods together, but the mood was subdued. Legolas could still feel Kizea's nervousness, and he smirked. The Fendowan were renowned for their fearlessness; nothing could ever shake their dauntless self-confidence, nothing except a tender moment, of course. It amused the elf to recognize the girl's inability to accept a compliment, such as it was.  
  
"Be sure to wrap the knife wound, " he told her, "It is only partially healed. Such injuries normally take elven magic several days to heal properly."  
  
"Yes, yes," Kizea replied. Suddenly she stopped, kicking a stone at her feet. The elf stopped, still smiling.  
  
"I would not seem ungrateful to you my good elf," she stuttered, "I simply..."  
  
Kizea stopped mid-sentence and looked up at the elf, who looked too entertained to suit her.  
  
"You have never held another's hand before?" he asked earnestly. Kizea sighed, looking to her wet boots once again.  
  
"I have never had any physical contact with anyone, except of course, in battle," she replied, "But I do not presume that to count. I have never received a gentle touch or word from anyone, not even my brother. Such generous behavior is considered unbefitting a supreme warrior. And that is what we were, Legolas. I could not afford the luxury of such simple things. That is why the stone compelled us to wear these accursed masks, so we would remain nameless and equal, with no thought to who or what we once were. What you said to me in the river just now...well...it was rather an unsettling feeling for me. That is all."  
  
"Well," grinned Legolas as they turned to walk again, "I will suppose since you've put no knife to my throat for it, that you hold me to no insult. I would take that as a Fendowan's gratitude."  
  
They continued on through the forest in silence, and although Legolas could not see it, Kizea smiled underneath her mask. 


	11. Gandalf

Legolas and Kerrinais were now on patrol. There was only a single day remaining before the group reached the territories of Imladris, and the woods were beginning to grow denser, the area more mountainous. Legolas had decided to split up the group on the following day. He and Kizea would travel to the Eyries, and he would send Kerrinais and Tenmelion to Rivendell to look for Gandalf and possibly elicit some additional search parties from Lord Elrond.  
  
"My heart will not allow me to return there," he said to Kerrinais that evening, "Go if you will, and bid to Lord Elrond of our request for aid. Be sure to explain the importance of its nature, and that my father would keep the stone safe at Mirkwood until Gandalf is located."  
  
But no sooner had Kerrinais acknowledged his friend's request, when both stopped short in their footsteps. They had come to a bend in the woods and needed to go around a craggy, 20 ft. outcropping. What stopped them was light. Although each elf emitted his own light (and it rather appeared in the dark of the woods as though they were walking lanterns), this other light was blue in nature. They could not see its source, but the blue rays dissipated into the blackness in all directions. Kerrinais quickly drew his sword, and Legolas silently drew an arrow and fitted it to the string of his bow, which he was seldom without. You must understand, although they treaded on elven lands, their anticipation of coming across one or many of Sauron's creatures was always in the back of their minds. Thus far, their trip had been blissfully free of such evil creatures. But Kizea had readily explained away that fact, much to the trepidation of even the courageous elves.  
  
"Melune is roaming free in the world now," Kizea had told them in Tuluth, "And no orc or other beast of the Dark Lord would possess the effrontery to cross her path. It would be suicide for them, or something worse. So you see my good elves, I am sure the bar owner is not lying to us. Melune and the other Fendowan have indeed traveled here already. Unwittingly, she has cleared the road for us."  
  
Without sound, Legolas and Kerrinais stepped around the bend, ready to strike. Kerrinais went first. As the blue light brightened across his eyes, he lowered his sword arm, his mouth opened in astonishment. Legolas stepped up beside him, with similar reaction. There in a smallish clearing, before a tiny, completely blue burning, crackling and sparking campfire, sat Gandalf the Gray. His arms were extended into the air, a wide grin upon his haggard face. Floating and diving all around the fire were a hundred Carner Blue butterflies, the terrible elven portents of fate. Legolas and Kerrinais had seen a single Carner Blue once, and the results were disastrous to each for just having looked upon it. Legolas immediately dropped his bow and covered his eyes with his hands. In any other situation, such an act would surely have betrayed their presence, but Gandalf seemed not to notice. Kerrinais stared in wonder at the unbelievable scene, unable to move. Then, without turning his head in their direction, Gandalf spoke up in a most pleasant, happy voice.  
  
"Ah, Legolas and Kerrinais! Come! Be not afraid! Come sit down with me and tell how is it you are come to wandering so far from home!"  
  
Kerrinais, his eyes still wide with shock took a single step forward, but Legolas refused to budge. His bravery had slipped away, and he was determined not to allow one of the tiny butterflies to land on him. It would be a sure sign of some eager fate, waiting to exact its horrific price once again on the unsuspecting elf. As it turned out though, the elf's reservations were not long-lived. As soon as Kerrinais took a single step, the whole of the Carner Blues flew into the fire with a loud CRACK, and were gone. When the elves once again opened their eyes, the fire was burning its bland red and orange, and Gandalf was hoisting himself up with his staff. He hobbled over to the incredulous elves, placing his right hand upon his chest and extending it outward to his new guests in the traditional elven gesture of greeting.  
  
After a few moments, and when they had regained their composure, they reciprocated the like, and the three sat down to the campfire to talk. And so the elves told the wizard of their strange odyssey, and how Kizea had happened upon them in Mirkwood, of how the Stone of Anor had been stolen and that Gwaihir the Windlord had snatched it from the very hands of the traitorous Melune and everyone it seemed was searching for him. He sat listening to their discourse, his eyes intent on the campfire as if he half- expected to see the Carner Blues reappear.  
  
"We have been searching for you nigh on 2 weeks now," Kerrinais said, "Tell us Gandalf, have you seen Gwaihir?"  
  
"No," Gandalf replied, "He has not crossed my path. I knew some ill destiny was come into Middle-Earth, but I would not have conceived of such a misfortune as this! At least the stone is in good hands for the present. I know not how it might have been procured, but we must locate Gwaihir as soon as can be."  
  
"The Fendowan will be most distressed to hear you do not already possess the stone," Legolas said grimly, "We should return to our own camp with all possible speed and let her know you are at least found."  
  
Gandalf immediately lowered his pipe and gasped.  
  
"You have brought a Fendowan WITH you? Why did you not tell me at once? We must go at once!"  
  
Gandalf pulled himself up with his staff and immediately turned towards the darkness of the woods. He whistled four times. Within a few short minutes, a magnificent bay stallion appeared out of the darkness. Gandalf smiled at the horse appreciatively, and then he began walking in the direction from where the elves came. The elves followed suit, almost sprinting to keep up with him.  
  
"Kizea, the Fendowan master, has accompanied us to search for you and the stone," Kerrinais said as he quickly followed the wizard. Although old and elderly in appearance, Gandalf was possessed of great energy and endurance.  
  
"If Kizea has journeyed so far into the wilderness to find me, our peril must be greater than I originally thought. We have no time to lose! I must speak to her without delay!"  
  
They sped along in the woods until the faint outline of the elven camp came into view. Tenmelion and Kizea's horses were there, calmly munching on a thicket of blackberries, but Moaanen and Neonean were gone. So were Tenmelion and Kizea. Gandalf looked around the area, surveying every rock and tree. Nothing seemed out of place. No sign of ambush or attack. Gandalf relaxed his stance.  
  
"They may be patrolling the area," Kerrinais said looking around, "We should split up and find them."  
  
"I believe I know where Kizea is," said Legolas, "She is most likely down at the river's edge."  
  
"Very well," exclaimed Gandalf, "Come with me Kerrinais, and we will search the woods for your other companion. Legolas go down to the river and retrieve Kizea. Let us meet back here with all haste!"  
  
They parted company, and Legolas sprinted off in the direction of the Bruinen. Legolas was now most anxious to find Kizea. Gandalf's demeanor and urgency had worried him exceedingly, and he was eager to reunite everyone. There was safety in numbers.  
  
Legolas sprinted towards the river while the others went to the forest to locate Tenmelion. Now that Gandalf was found, it would be a simple matter for him to call upon Gwaihir, or at least, so he thought. The moon was nearly at its apex in the sky. Legolas's feet sank into the soft mosses that lined the banks of the Bruinen. His sense of urgency prevented him from creeping stealthily through the reeds and brush, besides, seldom was a Fendowan taken by surprise, or an elf for that matter. But Legolas WAS surprised. As he drew near to the banks his keen ears detected a soft, melodious humming rising over the sounds of the rushing water. He stopped, perplexed, and peered through the reeds to the river's edge. There was Kizea, bathing. She splashed and swirled the water about with her hands gaily as would a child, and she was humming. Her voice, light and delicate was familiar to him somehow, but he thought little of it. He had heard much singing past the time when he began to care of such things. Every voice seemed to remind him of his Nevariel, and this was no different.  
  
Standing silently, Legolas's eyes tightened on her muscular outline. He had never seen what was underneath a Fendowan's heavy tunic before. He half expected her to have some obvious magical properties underneath it all. He was not entirely surprised to find nothing. Still, he was not completely disappointed either. Despite her mortal flaws, she was, in her own way, quite beautiful. Her skin was alabaster white, with long-healed scars dotting her chiseled arms. Her long auburn hair fell in wet curls around her shoulders. The only thing she wore was her mask, its gold patina caught hold of the tiniest bits of moonlight and reflected glints and glimmers of yellow, green and red all around. Long strings of red garnets kept her mask in place. They fell aimlessly about her shoulders as well, mingling with her hair. Kizea stood up wringing her hair with her hands, her back towards the elf. The moonlight betrayed a healed 5-inch scar down the middle of her back. Legolas wondered what savage battle she was embroiled in to have left such a bitter reminder.  
  
He stepped forward through the brush to the water's edge, staring at Kizea. Upon hearing the elf, the girl immediately dropped into the water again, until it was up to her neck. She glared at Legolas angrily.  
  
"I had not conceived the elves so discourteous as to watch me bath uninvited!" she snapped, "I would beg you to leave!"  
  
Legolas squatted down at the water's edge.  
  
"Forgive my intrusion, but we have found Gandalf nearby and he begs you would join us back at the camp!"  
  
"Then divert your eyes, sir elf, lest one of my daggers finds its way to them! None are allowed to gaze upon me without my clothes! Hurry!"  
  
Legolas stood up, turning his back to her. He could plainly hear Kizea trudging out of the water. Her clothes were 10 ft from him, resting atop the still river reeds. Legolas waited patiently. Kizea's behavior often bewildered him. At times she was receptive and intensely interested in the elves, other times she displayed behavior more like when they had first met in Mirkwood, standoffish and arrogant. If the woodland elves of Middle- Earth had but one flaw, it was their inability to recognize and transition to the social etiquettes of other societies.  
  
Legolas would think little of happening upon another elf bathing in the river, especially one in his own hunting party, and no other elf would think him rude for doing it. However, the Fendowans were intensely private, hiding all aspects of their physical selves. It was forbidden for any Fendowan to watch another undress without their permission, and this was never given. Legolas had simply not considered this possibility. To him, his stepping through the reeds and crunching over the leaves had been loud enough for her to hear, but the Fendowan had let her guard down. Kizea was angry with herself for not hearing the elf's approach straightaway. In any other situation, this could have been a deadly mistake. He had surprised her.  
  
For the entire return trip to the camp then, she grumbled angrily under her breath, and would not walk beside the elf, but behind him. Legolas simply brushed the whole incident off. He had achieved his task in retrieving Kizea, now the wizard could have her, and at least part of his journey was over. He felt he would soon be able to leave that part of the land and go home to Mirkwood to nurse his grief once more. When they broke the thicket of trees, they could plainly seen Kerrinais and Tenmelion busily preparing an evening meal of fish. This wasn't a common occurrence. Normally, the group picked and ate sporadically. Seldom was a meal cooked over a fire, but then, seldom did the elves entertain a wizard, much less Mithrandir.  
  
There were several fish skewered through sticks, barbequing over the campfire. Tenmelion was cleaning some freshly picked blackberries and Kerrinais was cleaning some wild carrots they had found previously. The woods were thick with them. There were also walnuts and tiny elderberries. Gandalf was busily talking to the elves as they worked, sitting upon a large stone that jutted up from the ground like a stool. He leaned on his staff with one hand, and held a long and worn wooden pipe with the other. His mood was merry and joyful, and he looked as though he was merely having a nice evening with some good friends, not as the pivotal stone on which the world's precarious fate now hung.  
  
"Come, come!" Gandalf said loudly, "Come and eat! We have a feast and good company!"  
  
Kizea peered distrustfully around Legolas's back at the wizard. She was like a shy child that did not want to stray too far from her mother's leg. But in the end, she had no choice but to come forward. Without further prompting, Legolas proceeded into the camp, leaving the Fendowan standing in the shallows of the trees, gazing at the group. No sooner had Legolas sat down, when Moaanen and Neonean ambled over her from the other side of the camp, and began to nudge her with their muzzles. She stepped back a foot to keep her balance, and quietly lifted a hand to pet Neonean's nose. Gandalf lifted his eyebrows, and continued to eat.  
  
"She prefers a horse's company to that of the elves." Tenmelion said half jokingly to Gandalf. The wizard did not look up.  
  
"They have accepted her as part of their herd," Gandalf replied, "Do not take that as a bad sign, Tenmelion, guardian of Mirkwood. Often a horse can be wiser than his master. He would alert us to danger long before we, ourselves see it. I would sooner trust a Fendowan who befriends a horse than one who's presence would chase him away."  
  
They continued to eat until only one fish remained on the skewers. Still, Kizea stood at the edge of the forest, looking on and around the entire scene. Sometimes gazing at the trees, sometimes stepping behind the horses so that less of her was exposed. As critical as it was for Kizea to speak to the wizard, she also wanted to be sure that it was not some trick Melune was playing upon her. No one prompted her to come into camp, but they sat and talked without a care. It wasn't until Neonean ambled up to Legolas, that the group knew Kizea had come.  
  
She reached over, plucking the final fish from the campfire. Backing away, she chose a spot to sit some five feet from Legolas. She used one of her golden daggers to cut away pieces of fish from the wooden spit, and then she carefully placed the dagger in front of her, for a quick retrieval. Gandalf noticed this, but he was not offended by the gesture. He realized that he was the only one within the group who might overcome her, and she had to be sure of him before she could let her guard down. Time crept by that evening. The elves talked of Mirkwood and the marvelous feast they would all have upon their return. Gandalf spoke to them of where his journeys had taken him, although, as a matter of courtesy, he did not mention his passage into the surrounding mountains of Mordor, and what he had seen of the billowing volcano there. Kizea waited for Gandalf to begin the one conversation she knew they must have. As usual, Kerrinais and Tenmelion went into the woods to patrol the area. Legolas decided to take the horses to the river for a drink. At last, the wizard and Kizea were alone.  
  
"It is good to see you again, my dear," Gandalf said finally. Kizea looked at him quizzically.  
  
"You mistake me for another," Kizea said in a serious tone of voice, "You have never been to Goldorma, or surely I would have known it. And I have never journeyed away until now. But let us away with such idle pleasantries, Gandalf. I have no need for social etiquettes. We have serious matters to discuss."  
  
Kizea then repeated what the elves had already told him. She spoke of the stone's abduction, and how she overheard Melune's intentions to raise Rakal and his horrific armies once she acquired it, and how Valnin and the others were dead or dispersed, and now only she remained.  
  
"Hmmmm, yes" Gandalf replied finally, "We must find Gwaihir straightaway. But take heart. While the stone is in his possession, no harm will come to it. And I do not believe the Fendowan master, Melune, can fly."  
  
"Not yet," Kizea exclaimed, "But she has acquired many new talents since she has come away from the mountain. Neither was she able to conjure a demon to help her on her way."  
  
"Such powers take much energy to produce," Gandalf reassured her, "She has not yet the strength to conjure at will, only at great need. It will take her time to find Gwaihir. My concerns for the Stone of Anor lie closer to home than to Melune."  
  
Kizea seemed confused by his statement.  
  
"What do you mean?" she asked in a whisper as she looked about the camp.  
  
"Surely you do not believe that one of the elves intends to do evil with the stone," she said, incredulous, "They might be ill-mannered, but they are trustworthy."  
  
"No," replied the wizard taking another puff of his pipe, "I do not worry about the elves."  
  
Kizea stiffened her back as she stared at Gandalf.  
  
"You do not accuse ME!" Kizea exclaimed, aghast.  
  
Gandalf sighed. He was at a quandary as to how much information he should reveal. The truth was that he knew many things before being told them, and once Legolas and Kerrinais had explained the current situation to him, several things began to fall into place in Gandalf's mind.  
  
"My dear, I would accuse any who intends to destroy a mystical gem such as the Stone of Anor. Unlike the rings of power, the stone MAY be destroyed, as I suspect you are aware. But because of its destruction, the equilibrium and light that it sets upon Middle-Earth will be destroyed with it."  
  
Kizea flashed him a disconcerted look, and she shifted uneasily on her seat. She bent her head low, not caring who saw or heard her. The wizard had read her very deepest thoughts it seemed. Her lowest designs were now laid bare to him. Her true intentions were to return Valnin to life and then destroy the stone, bringing its useless pieces to King Thranduil after.  
  
"What would you know of it? You do not wield the flame of Anor. You cannot know its power, or what will become of the world should it fall to the wrong hands. But I do Gandalf, and I fear in my heart for all living creatures. When Melune is done, there will be no living thing left in the world." she whispered, anger growing in her voice.  
  
"Your intentions are good, Kizea, priestess of the Fendowan," Gandalf admonished, "I know that after you bring your brother to life, you would obliterate the stone and thereby prevent Melune or any other demon from ever obtaining it. But in destroying the Stone of Anor, you would do more harm than good, though you realize it not. And it would not alter the evil that Melune would unleash. She is what she is. And without her, evil would simply wait and find another venue for its freedom. Can you not see that?"  
  
"I can see nothing! A lifetime have I been imprisoned behind this mask!" Kizea said bitterly, "Stolen from my home, my family and forced into darkness and slavery! And now my only fragment of my past lies dead in Tuluth, with as much thanks to Melune! Your precious elven stone also brought HER to life from the dead, or did you not know THAT? The stone prefers not the warmth of the light or the cold of the dark, Gandalf, but will provide equally for both! I have come to believe the stone of Anor is not good, but evil. Did it not choose that demon as its protector as well? If Melune obtains the stone, there is no limit to the destruction she will cause! Do you think in my returning it to the mountain and reestablishing the Fendowan order, she would give up her quest? She will always lust after it, and her search will not end until she finds it. And I have not the power to stop her. That is why I would destroy it! If the stone is gone, she might never use it for the Dark Lord's purpose!"  
  
"The stone of Anor is not a thing of evil," Gandalf said gently, "But it would reflect goodness in the hands of the right keeper. The stone chose YOU Kizea, over endless numbers of others because of your courageous heart. You were chosen to counter its evil side. You were chosen to keep it from Melune and be the instrument of its protection."  
  
"But," she stammered, "The stone could not have foreseen this ill future! It brought us to it as a common defense against outsiders only, not to fight against each other! I cannot defeat Melune! We swore an oath never to shed the blood of another Fendowan. Even Melune was unable to kill me when we fought in the elven king's throne room. Some unseen force prevented her from finishing me. I do not want this responsibility any longer, Gandalf. I would only make the world safe as can be and then retreat back to the mountain to live out what is left of my life with my brother."  
  
"If you are so resolute, my dear, take off your mask. And then let another take the responsibility from your shoulders." Gandalf smiled.  
  
"What?" asked Kizea, "What do you mean?"  
  
"If you are resolute to being a Fendowan no more in the world," smiled the wizard, "Then simply remove your mask, and be a Fendowan no more."  
  
Kizea's eyes grew wide and she stared blankly into the fire, but then an astonished realization came to her. Never before had she considered that being a Fendowan was a matter of free choice. She had simply never thought about it. Her voice grew grim again.  
  
"Gandalf," she said quietly, "You said you knew me before. Tell me truthfully, who am I?"  
  
The wizard bent his head low and sighed. He did not answer her for some minutes, and Kizea did not repeat the question. Instead, she merely waited for his eventual answer.  
  
"I am not entirely sure, my dear," he said finally, "I only believe I know, but until your face is revealed, we will not know for certain. And it would do you no good service to speak a name that you hold no memory of or value to. I CAN tell you of the great heart you must possess, or you would never have achieved your present station. I know that you long to discover your previous life, but from the discovery is exacted a heavy price. I am sure you realize, when you shed your Fendowan mask there is no going back. Before giving up such a supreme honor, please think about what you are now and the good you can achieve now."  
  
Kizea nodded, bringing her hand up to her mask. She slowly drifted her fingers across the gemstones that lined it one side. She was not ready yet. She gazed down and felt of a small string underneath her tunic, and Gandalf eyed her actions with great attention. But she did not reveal what lay underneath. Instead she stood up.  
  
"Thank you Gandalf," she said with a touch of sadness in her voice, "I think I would keep my mask awhile yet. I must go on patrol now, for I would not leave all the work to the elves."  
  
Gandalf nodded and watched Kizea as she stepped over a bedroll and walked towards the woods. 


	12. Melune's Transformation

The following day, the journey began once again. The elves had returned during the night, almost jovial because at least part of their quest was a success. They rode along the trail northwards, following the Bruinen. The river broke off into two sections. One flowing east brought the traveler to Imladris. The other section, flowing on a more northerly route, was a passageway to the uppermost crossing of the Misty Mountains, the High Pass. The eagle's Eyries where the Windlord kept his home, was north on the far side of the mountain chain. Gandalf knew that Gwaihir had not come through the lower passes, and he was now sure the eagle would keep the stone nearest his own home for the safety of it. Gwaihir knew that in obliging Gandalf to seek him out, he stood a much better chance in keeping the stone from harm's way. Yes, King Thranduil had told Gwaihir that Gandalf had gone to Isodor, but Gwaihir knew that Gandalf would come to knowledge of the stone's fate eventually and would seek HIM out. The Windlord had played a smart move. In looking for Gandalf, he would leave himself open to discovery to more beings than the wizard. And Gandalf was not certain that others besides Melune were not searching as well. If Kizea was correct regarding Melune's spell casting, then perhaps Sauron himself was guiding her along, and any number of beasts and creatures, which stood slave before the Dark Lord, would be seeking Gwaihir as well.  
  
So their road was then bent on the High Pass, and the group as a whole, was now seeking Gwaihir. Legolas was at ease as well, for it was decided there would be no time to stop for provisions in Rivendell, and he was secretly thankful for the decision.  
  
The horses plodded along the soft forest ground along the Bruinen. Food was plentiful in the late summer and all manners of berries and forest roots were at their height of ripeness. Hardly did they pass a section of the trail that Kizea did not jump from her horse and pick some berries and hand them out to the elves or see some wild carrots for the horses. Gandalf often grew impatient of Kizea's newly acquired behavior, saying:  
  
"My dear, you would fatten these horses till they cannot carry anyone! Leave some of the forest harvest for other travelers! We must press on!"  
  
Much to the surprise of her elven companions, Kizea never spoke harshly in return to Gandalf. She would merely nod and sprint back to her mount and they would continue. It was now late in the afternoon and they all were looking for a place to camp for the night. They had ridden the better measure of 20 miles since early that day, and both Kizea and Gandalf were growing tired of the saddle. The elves, as usual, seemed unaffected. But they were anxious to give their steeds a rest, because of the cold days to come. The sun was beginning to set in the West, producing a magnificent pallet of red and orange colors across the skyline, and a slight wind was gusting down from the north.  
  
Tenmelion pulled the reins of his horse and came to a halt in a large clearing. He visually inspected the general area. A small patch of trees, providing cover from the chilly evening winds, surrounded the clearing. There were ample supplies of water and grass for the horses. Indeed, Kizea had retrieved so much food from the forest that day that no one was really hungry. Kizea gently kicked her horse and rode up alongside Tenmelion in the front.  
  
"This seems a good place to make camp," he said to her, "Soon the black of night will be upon us, and we should rest the horses a while."  
  
Kizea looked around to the trees, and her horse took two steps backwards, whinnying. Alarmed, Kizea leaned forward in her saddle, wondering if a snake had spooked her mount. Suddenly a hail of arrows rained down upon the group from the trees. Tenmelion was hit solidly in the shoulder and fell from his horse to the ground.  
  
"Orcs!" cried Legolas pulling out his bow. Kizea wildly turned her horse around, looking for the source of the arrows. Orcs were beginning to pour from the forest, 15 in all, laughing hideously as they lumbered towards the group. Kerrinais and Legolas used their bows, each arrow hitting its mark with deadly accuracy. Almost as each orc came running from the forest, its sword held high, it would be struck down by one of the elves. An orc jumped from behind a nearby tree. Gandalf whirled around and lifted his staff, but in an instant it was knocked from his hand. He began to fight the creature with his own sword, the sounds of clanging metal resounded through the forest. Tightening her gaze, Kizea suddenly saw a hint of gold on a tree branch. She instantly spurred her horse and rode full tilt towards the glimmer.  
  
"NO! Kizea!" yelled Gandalf.  
  
But Kizea ignored him. Another rain of arrows came down on top of her from the trees, and her horse fell, throwing her to the ground. She struggled frantically to get up but could not budge. One of her legs was pinned beneath her horse. From the corner of her eye she saw something running towards her. Crying out. Kizea threw one of her daggers with all her might in the direction of the movement, without really knowing what she was aiming at. A large orc dropped to the ground, not five feet from where she lay. With the immediate threat over, she propped her free foot against the horse's back and pulled with all her strength. Her foot came free bereft of her boot. Kizea scrambled backwards to her feet, and staggered until her back pressed against the base of a tree. Sticky pinesap clung to her clothes and her hair, but she could not afford to pay any heed to it.  
  
She knew there were others watching her. When pinned underneath her horse, it would've been too easy for Melune to send in four or five creatures in to finish her. But Kizea knew that Melune first wished to play with her a while. In a defensive posture, Kizea clutched onto her one remaining dagger both hands in front of her. Another shower of arrows sailed through the treetops, narrowly missing her, but Kizea did not attempt to dodge any of them. She knew that none would hit any vital parts of her body. Melune would not want her quarry to be mortally injured straightaway, not before she had the stone. And for all Melune knew, Kizea was in possession of it or at least knew where to find it. The tip of one arrow sank deep into the bark of the tree behind her head with a thud. She looked frantically about the treetops, but saw nothing. Kizea was only partially correct in her assumptions. Melune did think that Kizea had some bit of knowledge from Gandalf, but the arrows that rained down upon Kizea were the work of Melune's ill-trained orc slaves, and not Melune herself. Her band of creatures had not the skill to hit their target from atop the trees where the traitorous Fendowan made them lie in wait. But still, Melune's archers achieved their purpose. Kizea was uncharacteristically unnerved, and showed it.  
  
"Coward! I will pursue you no further into the wood than this!" Kizea cried looking wildly about the treetops, "Show yourself, Melune! I know you are here!"  
  
For a second there was no answer. The only sounds to be heard were the clangs of metal from the clearing as the fight raged on between Gandalf, the elves and Melune's creatures. Kizea was not sure from where her foe had acquired the orcs, but it really didn't matter. Kizea's only hope now was to draw Melune out and hope to defeat her in hand-to-hand combat. Against a hail of arrows, she would eventually be beaten, and she was exposed here. Kizea stood erect, pushing herself away from the tree. She looked around the area. There was nothing. Nothing until a sort of screeching, high- pitched laugh penetrated her ears. With a heavy thud, something huge landed directly in front of her. Its feet sank into the soft forest mosses and dirt, which were unable to hold up under its tremendous weight. Its skin was sallow and gray, pockmarked with open sores. The very smell of the creature was overwhelming. It slowly stood erect, laughing its high-pitched laugh.  
  
So incredulous was the sight that Kizea's mouth dropped open and her arms sank in front of her. Kizea's defensive posture was entirely forgotten. She could only stare in disbelief. At the end of each hideous clawed hand was a Fendowan knife. Beyond the scratched and clawed surface of a golden mask were gleaming black eyes. Her misshapen head betrayed fistfuls of matted hair, with large chunks pulled out. The tattered remains of a Fendowan tunic hung loosely about her massive chest.  
  
"You disappoint me, mighty Kizea," the creature hissed, "I had hoped to see more prowess from YOU. Can you not even challenge me?"  
  
Instantly, soft footfalls came rushing through the woods as Legolas positioned himself in front of Kizea. He pulled back hard on his bow and his last row whipped through the air at the creature. With another laugh, Melune instantaneously crossed her daggers in front of her, neatly catching the arrow and stopping it dead in its tracks. Melune then opened her knives and the arrow harmlessly fell to the ground.  
  
Legolas seemed less shocked by the hideous beast than Kizea. His arrows now spent, Legolas pursed his lips and stepped forward, drawing both of his swords. Melune laughed again and began to hum sweetly. It was a curious sort of sound, soft and melodious. The elf likened it to the calming sounds of a stream or the mesmerizing crackle of a wood fire. Legolas blinked his eyes several times and continued walking towards Melune, but he now began to lower his swords. Smiling underneath her mask, Melune took a single step forward. Her daggers were poised, ready to kill the elf.  
  
As she prepared to strike Legolas down, a knarled hand came down heavy upon Legolas's shoulder, jolting him back. The elf looked around confused, as though he did not know where he was.  
  
"Do not listen to the creatures of the dark!" Gandalf ordered sternly. He held up his staff and pointed it at Melune, who screeched with anger.  
  
"Be gone!" he ordered her, "Hath entor esaddath!! Your magic can do no more here!"  
  
Screaming in fury, she looked one last time at Kizea before crouching down and leaping onto the nearest branch of a large oak tree. She continued leaping from branch to branch, but it seemed to Legolas that she simply disappeared from their sight after only three short leaps. Breathing hard, Gandalf lowered his staff, exhausted from his efforts.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked Legolas, his hand stiff upon the elf's shoulder. Legolas nodded, and then both wizard and elf turned to look at Kizea, who was visibly shaking. She stared off in the direction from where Melune had escaped. Her one remaining dagger lay on the ground where she had dropped it.  
  
"Come!" ordered Gandalf, "We have no time to tarry!"  
  
Legolas had already run up to Kizea, still dumbfounded and bewildered. He pulled hard on her tunic as he sprinted past, and she jerked her head around to stare at the elf. Then looking to the ground, she bent over to pick up her dagger.  
  
"Hurry!" Legolas cried as he ran towards the meadow.  
  
"Go! Go!" Kizea replied, "I will be there anon! I must retrieve my dagger!"  
  
Running to the freshly killed orc, Kizea placed her foot on his chest for leverage and then freed her other dagger. Then she limped over to her horse to retrieve her other boot. She looked into the darkening forest and a sense of dread fell over her. Then she trotted away towards the clearing.  
  
The ambush was not successful, but had materially damaged the group nonetheless. Two horses were dead, and Tenmelion was severely injured. Kizea trotted into the open to find Kerrinais and Gandalf hovering over their fallen friend. Legolas stood by Neonean and Moaanen, warily scanning the area for any further attacks. Gandalf pulled back on the elf's jerkin to assess his wound and Tenmelion moaned grievously. Already it was blackening, although Tenmelion had managed to pull it out during the fray. Kerrinais flashed a concerned look at the wizard, who turned to pick the arrow up off the ground where the elf had cast it.  
  
"Poisoned!" Gandalf said in disgust as he threw the arrow to one side, "And one I do not recognize! We must bring him to Rivendell at once and hope that it is not too late already for Tenmelion."  
  
"We cannot stop our quest!" Kizea blurted out suddenly, "If we delay even a little, the stone may be lost!"  
  
"Kizea is right." Legolas said as he held onto Neonean's neck, "The demon looms on our heels, right under our noses. Kerrinais. Take Tenmelion to Imladris, and then return as soon as you might. I will ride with Kizea to the Eyries. And Gandalf, I cannot sway you to one direction or the other, but Gwaihir would sooner have your council than any of us. I believe you should go with us."  
  
Gandalf sighed, looking down at Tenmelion, then at the horses.  
  
"We will be at a disadvantage if we are divided, but it cannot be helped. The journey will be more difficult with two less horses. Kerrinais, you will bring Tenmelion quicker to Rivendell on your own steed. Go then with him and make haste! Every moment here is a moment wasted for all of us, and time is something that none of us have. I will ride with Legolas and Kizea."  
  
Kerrinais nodded and quickly mounted Moaanen. Then Legolas placed their fallen friend in his arms. Tenmelion seemed no longer coherent, and was whispering to himself in elvish, but no one understood his words. Whispering to Moaanen, the horse whinnied and sped off on the dead run. Kizea stood watching Kerrinais disappear from their sight.  
  
Legolas was already mounted on Neonean and ready to leave. He looked about, worried that Melune or her band of creatures would return. With two less elves in the company now, they would be at a distinct disadvantage. Gandalf, on the other hand, furrowed his eyebrows with disapproval at Kizea. When she realized that he was staring at her, she quickly gazed down to her daggers, seemingly needing to adjust them tighter. Really, she was simply avoiding the uncomfortable stare from the wizard.  
  
"I must get a hold of myself!" she thought, "Such trivialities never bothered me before! A wizard's stare or a looming beast as my foe, it mattered not! I must overcome this fright that overwhelms me!"  
  
Gandalf mounted his horse, and Kizea suddenly found herself as the only one standing without a mount.  
  
"Let us away then," Kizea said, "Worry not for me. I can well keep up with your horses on foot."  
  
But Legolas quickly hopped from Neonean's back and extended his hand to her.  
  
"It would do no good to exhaust yourself," he said, "If another attack should come, we will need all your strength. Neonean can easily carry us both, and she would not mind you on her back."  
  
Kizea stared at the elf, and then sighed. She knew he was telling the truth. Running behind a trotting horse would be exhausting work, though she did not want to admit it. Melune was correct regarding one thing, she had grown weak.  
  
"Very well," she said at last as she stepped forward. But she strutted by him and did not take his extended hand. Instead, she gripped a lock of the horse's mane and pulled herself to Neonean's back. Legolas's eyebrows raised and a slight smile came to his face. Neonean's back was well above Kizea's head. For the elf, who was naturally tall, it was not much of a consequence to mount the gray mare. But Kizea was short in stature, and she nearly had to completely extend her arms above her head merely to grip the horse's mane. Neonean remained perfectly still. And Kizea too, was mildly surprised at how tall Legolas's horse was. In reality, she towered well above all the other horses in the company by several hands.  
  
For the first time, Kizea saw the single braid on each side of her mane, behind each ear. The braids were neatly hidden under the rest of the horse's mane. The Fendowan stared at the braids and then meant to look at Legolas. She had seen his braided hair, but thought little of it until now. However, he was already mounting the horse behind her. A shudder ran through her as he slipped his muscular arms around her waist. He did this more to stabilize Kizea rather than himself. Legolas was an expert at all things, and long had it been since he needed reins on a horse. He gripped Neonean's side with his legs, and whispered in elvish. Neonean sprang into the air, surprising Kizea once again with her power. Gandalf then galloped away in pursuit of Kizea and Legolas. The three were now off to the High Pass and the Eyries beyond. 


	13. A Prisoner is Revealed

They rode hard for the remainder of the night, and most of the next morning. The sun was not quite at its zenith when the group finally stopped at the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Gandalf sat on his horse, gazing this way and that, searching for the most opportune trail to make for the High Pass.  
  
Legolas, on the other hand, was more of a mind to strike camp before making the ascent. They had traveled nigh on two days and nights without food or water, and Legolas was concerned about Neonean. For an elf, such occasional hardships were of no great importance, but Neonean was now attempting to graze at every opportunity. Even when they stopped for a moment to gather their bearings, Neonean aimlessly wandered away from Gandalf's horse with Legolas and Kizea still perched on her back, in search of a good bit of greenery. Legolas knew his horse must be thirsty as well. His arms tightened around Kizea's tiny waist to keep her upright, and he smiled again to himself. In the few minutes that they had stopped, her head had tipped back, leaning against his shoulders, and she had fallen fast asleep in his arms.  
  
"Hardly the endurance of a deadly and vicious, renowned assassin," he whispered.  
  
Kizea's head jerked up and she looked around, trying to get her bearings. Immediately she brought her hands up to her waist and pushed the elf away from her.  
  
"You hold me too tightly, Legolas! I can hardly breath!" she reproached. Legolas loosened his grip a bit. Gazing around, Kizea changed the subject.  
  
"Where are we now?"  
  
"We are nearing the foothills of the Misty Mountains," he replied, "Gandalf is seeking for the straightest trail to the High Pass."  
  
The elf glanced over at the wizard who was turning his head in the direction of the blowing wind.  
  
"Gandalf," Legolas called, "We should rest here for the evening. The next few days will afford us little protection or food for the crossing."  
  
Gandalf nodded.  
  
"Agreed," he replied, "This site will make a good camp. The trees will keep the winds from chilling us and there is ample firewood. Let us camp here for the evening."  
  
Legolas lightly hopped off Neonean and walked away to begin gathering firewood, leaving Kizea sitting on the horse's back. She waited a moment and then slid off the horse, giving her a pat on her muzzle before retreating towards the river.  
  
"I will find something for us to eat," Kizea said lifting her daggers from their sheaths.  
  
To Gandalf's surprise, both Neonean and his own horse obediently plodded after her. The wizard glanced over to Legolas, who simply shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.  
  
She returned a while later with several large trout, plucked from a nearby mountain stream. Already, a large fire was blazing, spreading its warmth against the frigid night air, gusting down from the mountain ridges. Kizea was quiet that evening. During their meal she offered little conversation to her companions, and only replied one or two word answers when spoken to. Kizea was clearly bothered by something, and everyone could guess what it was. The demon orc who stood against her in the woods was not her old foe Melune, but something far more evil. At last she stood up and walked calmly away, despite Gandalf's admonishments to stay near the fire. Legolas watched her climb a nearby oak tree and settle onto one of the highest branches, clinging to its trunk. Gandalf watched her too, puffing lazily on his long pipe.  
  
"She has changed overmuch since I first saw her in Mirkwood," Legolas told him at last, "Something in her character is decidedly weaker. I am worrying that if we are attacked again by that goblin, we will not fair as well."  
  
"Away from the stone's influence, she is returning to her former self, as is Shazoul." Gandalf replied slowly.  
  
Legolas's head jerked around. He had not heard that name spoken in some hundreds of years, and he had not thought of it in as much time. It was like a bad dream that was lost and suddenly remembered again. Shazoul. A chill inexplicably welled up inside the elf. She was known by many names, but Shazoul seemed to suit her best. Others knew her only by what she was, the ancient demon commander of the Dark Lord who spread death and ruin throughout Middle-Earth more than a thousand years earlier. A demon with no conscience or fear, it was said among the older elves that she could make the very darkness quell with despair. Her renown had only been momentarily superseded by Rakal as the evilest and mightiest of Sauron's beasts. Legolas had never opposed her in battle, but tales of her killing and torturing skills were common among the woodland elves. None spoke of her without a reflection of respect or fear in their voice. And the elves feared few things in the world.  
  
"Shazoul?" Legolas said sitting up, "But I thought our pursuers were a band of Fendowan. Shazoul was vanquished long ago in the Battle of the Last Alliance, was she not? She no longer exists."  
  
"Dead then," said Gandalf in a whispering voice, "Not so now. Shazoul and the Fendowan leader Melune are one in the same. Reinstated by the power of the stone, she is alive and bitter for retribution. She is now coming to remember her former life as a leader for the Dark Lord, before the blackness and bliss of death. Before the stone brought her to life and took her to subjugation and unending captivity. Stripped of all her former rank and glory, Shazoul found herself equal among the other Fendowan. No doubt a station that she doubly loathed. It was the fact that she and Kizea were the only two brought back from death that they eventually achieved their leadership in the Fendowan order. A leader Shazoul was, yet equal in many respects. It is that sort of forced existence for which she suffered relentlessly for a thousand years. Shazoul's hatred of bondage is only matched now by her lust for the kill. Now she is remembering all that she was and all that she can be now. Just as I suspect Kizea is remembering her own former life as well."  
  
Legolas's expression became more and more concerned. His thoughts were troubling him and it was with some effort that he spoke his next words.  
  
"Will Kizea then turn into one of those creatures do you think? Must we have to fight her as well?"  
  
"Kizea is transformed already," Gandalf replied quietly, shaking his head, "Be assured Legolas, she is no demon. But I can only suspect of her real identity."  
  
"When she was at the river, I spied a long scar on her back," Legolas whispered gazing back to the trees. Gandalf furrowed his eyebrows, but then he smiled.  
  
"And you thought that should be familiar to you?" the wizard replied.  
  
Legolas sat for a moment and reflected. It was an odd sort of thing for the wizard to say. And as much as they were now friends, wizards were somewhat of a strange entity to the woodland elves. They often spoke in riddles. Gandalf's comment perplexed Legolas.  
  
"No," Legolas replied, "I did not recognize it. Should I have? Are you telling me I should I know this woman from somewhere? She recognized elven music at the feast hall in Mirkwood. Do you think she is of an elven descent?"  
  
"Worry not my friend. As I said, I can only suspect of her identity, but we should never know for sure unless it is through her own volition. The only way to know for certain is if she would forsake the Fendowan order and remove her mask, and that is not likely to happen. In all of history no Fendowan has ever relinquished that honor once they have achieved it. But still, we must be careful Legolas. I am not entirely sure of Kizea. Even now she intends to destroy the stone once it is in her possession."  
  
Legolas seemed unsurprised by Gandalf's statement.  
  
"Kizea vowed to return the stone to Mirkwood," he exclaimed thoughtfully, "But her words were marked with a vagueness that unsettled me. So. She would only return the stone to my father after she has destroyed it. Such a deceit would surely rank her among the Dark Lord's minions. I know not much of the stone's history, but for the elven legends, Gandalf. But if myth were based in truth, then destroying the stone would create utter chaos in Middle-Earth. We must prevent Kizea OR Shazoul from obtaining the stone!"  
  
"The balance of good and evil is delicate." Gandalf said somberly, "The stone may even now be exerting its preference over who's hands in which it wishes to be placed. Your father is a good king Legolas, but NOT chosen by the stone as its protector. To remain intact, it may settle for a while in the hands of the wicked. I do not know. But I am inclined to believe Kizea is a being of light, equal in measure to the evil of Shazoul. The balance is then maintained. But we must be prepared for any eventuality. If the stone of Anor were to be destroyed, it would be as much a disaster as if it were placed in Shazoul's very hand. We must be prepared to do what we must in order to prevent the stone's destruction. My only certainty is that Sauron has finally realized the opportunity for which he has waited for so long. One of his most trusted creatures to be resurrected and taken in by the stone of Anor, and then by his own design be swept away from the stone's influence somehow and returned to his own dominion."  
  
Gandalf sighed deeply.  
  
"It is a nightmare from which I have long feared. Shazoul is a Fendowan, endowed with all the powers and skill to protect and possess the stone of Anor growing back to a demon of the worst make under the Dark Lord's iron will. She is as she was; a slave to Sauron yet with the stone's own acceptance. She contains within her the ability to defeat the mightiest of Middle-Earth's warriors in the stone's defense. And Shazoul has grown stronger in her transformation, and Kizea all the weaker. Once Shazoul has the Stone of Anor, no one will be able to oppose her. This situation is beyond all the Dark Lord has hoped for. Through Shazoul and the Stone of Anor, his armies may be eternally resurrected into Middle-Earth, and his dominion over Middle-Earth will at last be realized."  
  
The look on Legolas's face had now grown from concern to one of horror. At last he understood the gravity of the situation, and he found himself wishing that Kerrinais's skill with a bow were there to aid in their quest. Legolas stared silently at the merry fire, and then to the timid-looking figure of Kizea, huddled at the top of the oak tree. The night dragged on slowly.  
  
When the dawn peaked gray and pink across the snowy mountaintops, Kizea quietly slipped down the tree and made her way to the camp. The fire was still burning, and she had watched it throughout most of the night. Clinging to the wide trunk of the oak tree, she had managed a few hours of sleep. She actually felt somewhat rested considering her bumpy bed, but it was a necessity. Even with an elf and a wizard as traveling companion, she no longer felt safe by a campfire. She had also time to think and reflect on what must be done. The relief of Gandalf's presence now was a great comfort to her, and she quickened her step to the camp. Gandalf had brewed some tea and Kizea knelt before the fire, warming her hands while looking about for a spare cup.  
  
Gandalf, who was always prepared for company on his journeys, pulled an extra cup from his pack and handed it to her. Kizea then dipped it into a boiling kettle on the fire, being careful not to trap any floating tealeaves in the brew. Then she turned her back slightly to the wizard, slightly lifted her mask and took a few sips. She immediately felt warmed by the drink, and scooted herself around again to face the wizard. A quick scan of the area revealed Legolas in the far distance, brushing Neonean while she lazily munched field grass. As she gazed at the elf, her lips softly curled into a smile. She leaned towards the wizard and spoke softly so as the elf would not hear.  
  
"With Legolas here, we need no campfire," she said amused, "He glows so brightly, I think he must be one of the stars come down from the sky to guide our way."  
  
In the distance, Legolas jerked his head up. Kizea was clearly startled. He had heard her comment! She quickly turned her head away from him and settled her gaze on Gandalf, who was smiling with wrapped amusement.  
  
"Did you not know the elves hear so well?" Gandalf grinned jovially. Kizea slowly shook her head, still embarrassed.  
  
"Worry not, my dear," Gandalf said standing up, "To equate an elf with the stars is a compliment of the highest sort. I am sure he was not insulted. Now we must be on our way. We have much hard travel ahead of us."  
  
Kizea nodded and stood up. After brushing herself off, she looked to her belt, making sure that her daggers were in order. Then they broke camp. As the final packs were tightened onto the horses, Kizea walked calmly up to each one, pulling a handful of berries from her pocket. Legolas watched her feed and coo softly to his horse, only a few steps away. He was curious of Kizea's identity now, and concerned, but her love animals and respect for the elves, as she had demonstrated at the tavern in Tuluth, were now factors highly in her favor. Legolas quietly decided to himself that she would not jeopardize their quest as Gandalf had suggested, and if she did, he personally would dispatch her. It was meant as a compliment. He would make her end quick and painless. It was a loathsome thought, to be sure, but knowing the result of the stone's falling into the wrong hands, he had no choice. Middle-Earth depended upon their combined efforts, and it was well known that the Fendowan had no loyalties except to themselves. He watched her for a few moments, until she realized that he was staring at her, not at the knapsacks in which he was securing. She glanced meekly at the elf, and then back at Neonean.  
  
"There was a raspberry bush beneath that tree," she said, "There was only a handful of berries left. I think it must be past the season now, but at least it is a small treat for her."  
  
Legolas nodded. Walking to the horse's side, Kizea lightly pulled herself up on Neonean's back and waited for the elf. The three riders traversed the craggy paths, up into the hillsides. As the next few days wore on, vegetation grew scant, and the snow grew deep. There would be no rest now until they emerged to the other side. Legolas was quiet, wrapped in dim thoughts of fighting Kizea. He remembered her skill in the forest of Mirkwood and within his father's throne room, and wondered if she still had the same measure of prowess. The worst was that he was growing quite fond of her. Although she had many rough points, to which Legolas attributed mostly from being away from more civilized society (such as an elven one), he admired her as much as she did him.  
  
Against all Fendowan culture she was polite and civil, and eagerly took a share of the work, rather than insisting to be waited on, as was her station. And she clearly was devoted to animals of the forest as he. Kizea leaned her back against the elf for warmth and shook the elf from his thoughts. Legolas's arms tightened around her waist. He suddenly realized she was shivering in the biting wind. Her heavy golden mask was lined with ice and frost in the bitter cold. She had wrapped her tiny hands within the veil of her tunic in an attempt to warm them. Such weather had no effect on the eternal elves, and if fact, Legolas liked snow. It was bright and shining, like the reflections of the sun on the water at midday, only a thousand times more so. But he knew that Kizea was growing too cold in the frozen mountain air, and she needed warmth. He had brought a blanket with him from Mirkwood, but never had cause to use it. But the elf knew that this would not be enough.  
  
"Gandalf!" Legolas called at last, "We should make a fire and rest awhile! Three days and nights have we traveled, and the horses grow weary!"  
  
"Nay!" called back Gandalf, "We must reach the other side before dusk."  
  
A gust of icy wind blew into Kizea's mask and she placed her hands over her face. Legolas frowned and whispered to Neonean who stopped short. He lightly hopped off Neonean's back and surveyed the area for a good place to start a warming fire. Gandalf stopped and turned his horse.  
  
"Legolas!" Gandalf called out, "Let Kizea ride with me awhile! Your horse will appreciate the lightened load I am sure. Come my dear. My staff shall warm you!"  
  
Looking once at the elf, Kizea expertly stood up on Neonean's back and stepped calmly over to Gandalf's mount. She settled herself behind him, and he raised his staff in the air. Immediately she could feel a warming heat emanating from the long, sculptured stick and Legolas sensed her relief. He walked back to Neonean and lightly hopped up again. Kizea's hands were now out of her tunic, and spread out towards Gandalf's upraised staff. Droplets of water were coming off of her mask, and Legolas was satisfied of her comfort. To Neonean, who had grown on magical forest greenery and occasional lembas, traversing the wintry landscape was no difficulty. At the elf's urging, she pranced away, with Gandalf close behind, his staff yet raised against the cold northern air. 


	14. The Secret Token

The sun began to wane in the distance behind them and they had not yet come to the rocky eastern road that would lead them down the other side of the Misty Mountains. Legolas had taken the lead, having crossed this way many times in the past. Gandalf was also a veteran of the High Pass crossing. Often using it on his travels to the Hobbit shires or the Elven homes. But now he passively took the rearguard with more concern of the cold than anything else. In the bright daylight, there would be no orcs or goblins, and he doubted, correctly, that they would not dare to venture over the pass in wild pursuit. Come daylight, there was little coverage for hiding against the sun's burning rays, and the creatures of Sauron despised the sun. Surveying the area, Legolas suddenly stopped Neonean and dismounted, walking some distance in front, looking this way and that. Craggy boulders of all sizes littered the mountainside and Legolas knew they must be close. Still there was something odd to him, and he walked forward regarding the ground with some curiosity.  
  
"What is it?" called Gandalf.  
  
"I cannot tell," Legolas replied in a loud voice looking around, "The trail is here, but there is something about the placement of these rocks is not right."  
  
Legolas walked further down an embankment, leaving Neonean at the top of the hill.  
  
"Legolas, come back!" called out Gandalf again, "We may go around!"  
  
Almost the moment he stopped speaking, there came rising up from the ground beneath his feet a low, steady rumbling noise. It was almost like the rush of a great waterfall, smashing down upon rocks in a gorge below, or perhaps a giant tree that being felled. At once, Legolas began to climb back up the steep hill, but was having difficulty for the ground shaking. The horses whinnied, and Kizea, jerking her head from side-to-side, reached down and yanked her daggers from their sheaths. Boulders began to give way and topple down the hillside towards the elf who was busily trying to steady his feet. Gandalf looked quickly about the area, and whispered under his breath.  
  
"Shazoul!"  
  
Smaller rocks, the size of a fist, flew by the elf's head with mere inches to spare. Looking on with growing alarm, Kizea watched helplessly as Legolas lost his footing and sank into the ground; a gaping hole opening up beneath him. Legolas scrambled to pull himself free of the widening pit, and he clutched and clawed at anything near him. Thin rasps of weeds merely pulled free in his hands. His lower body was already fallen through the growing fissure, and unable to dodge the tumbling boulders, he was now an easy target.  
  
"Legolas!" cried Kizea leaping from Gandalf's horse. She shoved her daggers back into their sheaths with hardly a second glance, forgetting to fasten them properly as she ran towards their companion.  
  
"Kizea, wait here!" Gandalf called out to her, "It is too dangerous!"  
  
But the Fendowan was already sliding down the hillside, and paid no attention to Gandalf's calls. She was nearly to the elf when she saw a craggy outcropping a few feet above him. Kizea skidded to a halt at the outcropping, and placed her boot against a large, solid rock that jutted out of the hillside. Smaller rocks, set loose from somewhere above pummeled her back. Leaning outward, she called to the elf to grab her outstretched hand, but she was still too high. Only the very tips of their fingers touched.  
  
She turned her head for a mere second to gaze up the mountainside to see if anything bigger was in their path. Almost instantly, a large, jagged stone struck her squarely in the face. She cried out and reeled backwards, but she was more stunned than harmed. Kizea shook her head and regained her composure. Then she gazed back at Legolas. He was now holding onto a loosening rock face with his very fingertips. The elf had only moments before his grip would give out and he would go tumbling into the abyss.  
  
Kizea cried out and sprang to her feet, running towards the elf. She bent low as she flew past him, grabbing his forearms and pulling him up with all her strength. The momentum of force caused his entire body to emerge instantly from the edge of the huge chasm. But when she pulled Legolas from the holes' rim, the ground began shaking even more, and the two stood for a split second on the precipice, teetering between standing upon solid earth and falling into the deepening pit. In an attempt to throw Legolas's weight in a better direction, Kizea leaned over and grabbed the elf's waist, leveraging him over her hip to her left side. It was a wrestling move that she had practiced often when training, but she never thought to use it until now. The idea worked perfectly, and the surprised elf was now in a position where both of his feet were on firm, albeit shaky, ground. Still there was one casualty of which Kizea was unaware. One of Kizea's daggers came loose from her belt and disappeared into the blackness.  
  
Grabbing Kizea's arm, Legolas stepped backwards away from the cavernous opening. Thrown off balance by the move, and the two fell uncontrollably down the steep hillside, amidst the rocks and dirt of the continuing landslide. 120 feet below, the mountainside smoothed out. Legolas came to a halt on his back, dazed and momentarily confounded. Stones hurled past him, glancing off his side and legs. Once she had stopped rolling, Kizea frantically looked about to find her companion. He was not moving. Almost frenzied, she crawled on her hands and knees to the elf and flung herself over him, covering his face and upper torso with her own. She covered the back of her head with her hands and waited. Again, rocks pelted her all along her body, but she did not cry out or move from her position, but steeled herself against the onslaught.  
  
Then, almost as soon as it had begun, the rockslide was over, and all was oddly quiet again. Kizea and Legolas remained stationary for some moments. At last the elf coughed and realized that a weight lay over his chest. Opening his eyes, he slowly circled his slender arms about Kizea's waist, and gently pulled her off to one side. She fell on her back with a slight moan. The elf then sat up. He was covered with dust and scrapes, but was otherwise unhurt. Blinking against the dust of falling rubble, Legolas stared up the 120 feet of hillside from where the two had plunged. An enormous pit had opened up, 3/4 of the way to the top, 15 feet wide. Kizea opened her eyes to find the elf standing over her, his hand extended. This time, she gladly took it, and he helped pull her to her feet. Kizea rubbed her leg with a bruised and bloodied hand.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked her earnestly. She nodded in reply and gazed up the hill.  
  
"Quite alright," Kizea replied, "I do not seem to recall there being such a cavern on this part of the trail."  
  
"There wasn't." Legolas replied looking around.  
  
Glancing back at Kizea, he raised his hand and touched her mask. A gouge, 2 inches long was deeply cut into the gold by the rock that had struck her face. Legolas realized that without her mask, Kizea would have been killed trying to save him. His piercing blue eyes sparkled at her as a small smile came to his lips, but she did not notice. Her eyes were scanning the ground.  
  
"My daggers!" Kizea said weakly, "I must find my daggers!"  
  
Her hands came to rest on a small pocket beneath her tunic. It was empty. Frantically, her fingers fumbled into the empty pocket and she let out a small cry of dismay. Oblivious to the elf's presence, Kizea began scanning the ground at her feet, kicking frantically through the loose rock. Her distracted manner caused Legolas to look around the ground as well, though he assumed it was her daggers for which she was searching. Behind the girl, Legolas spied a glint of red, and he stepped around Kizea to retrieve one of her knives. As he bent over to pick it up though, his keen eye caught sight of one more thing. Slowly his hand stretched forward and he pulled the item from the dirt. His mouth dropped open and he stared in disbelief as he held Kizea's hidden token in his trembling hand.  
  
Spinning around to face the Fendowan, who was still searching the ground where they stood, the incredulous elf held out the item to her. She looked up saw of his ashen face, and thought perhaps he had been hurt in the rockslide after all. Then she saw in his outstretched hand her sacred and personal keepsake, a braid of auburn and flaxen hair, intertwined and tied. It was her only memento of her past existence, and Kizea guarded it jealously. Valnin had told her that she had died with it in her grasp, and she knew it must have been a love token from her mate. Stepping quickly up to the astounded elf, Kizea angrily grabbed the braid from his outstretched hand and shoved it into her pocket. Her reaction was more of embarrassment than anger. For no Fendowan was permitted to retain any piece of their past lives while in the stone's service, and although there was a time when Kizea didn't think much of the token, she kept it with her in secret, nonetheless.  
  
"How did you come by this?" Legolas whispered, his voice nearly breaking for the fear and excitement within his heart.  
  
"It is not your concern!" Kizea snapped. She shoved the strand further down into her empty pocket as if to make sure of its safety. Her eyes gazed downward and suddenly she did not want to face the elf. Such an outburst was unbecoming of a Fendowan master, and she was embarrassed by her behavior. Yet, she could not apologize. Instead, in a subdued voice, she simply offered up an explanation of sorts to the expectant elf.  
  
"In my very hand it was when the stone of Anor brought me to life, and though I was compelled to discard it by my order, but I retained it without their knowledge. I cannot tell you why. My half-brother told me it was a remnant of my former existence, and as such, I would not part with it. I can only guess it was given to me by my husband at some time or other. As I told you before, I thought I was married. What is the matter with you, master elf? Are you injured?"  
  
For now the blood had completely drained from the elf's face. Tears welled in his eyes. As Kizea stood bewildered before him, he fell to his knees before her, shaking uncontrollably. He seemed to stare completely through her. Legolas said nothing, but wrapped his arms gently around Kizea's legs and pulled her in close to him. He buried his face in her stomach, weeping, and she heard him whisper a single elvish name over and over. Nevariel.  
  
Kizea raised her hand and gently placed in on the elf's head, not knowing what further she could do to comfort him. His behavior was disconcerting, but Kizea felt that her braid of hair reminded him of some past dalliance, and he was overcome. But she did not equate it with the fact that he thought he knew her.  
  
"Who is Nevariel?" Kizea asked softly, "Did this token remind you of someone?"  
  
Legolas laughed slightly as he stifled a sob.  
  
"Do you remember nothing?" he said pulling himself tighter to her.  
  
But Kizea remained confounded by the elf's behavior. Her mind was more set upon finding her sacred daggers. She simply did not see the significance of it all, and she remained blind to the elf's tears. Not so with Gandalf. By now, the wizard had negotiated the hill and was riding quickly up to them. He stopped short, amazed upon seeing the elf so obviously overcome and clinging to the puzzled girl. Gandalf knew that something grievous had just happened.  
  
"Legolas!" he ordered sternly. The elf pulled back and looked over to the wizard. Gandalf was shocked at the expression on Legolas's face. It was as though the elf had seen a mercurial apparition.  
  
"Legolas," Kizea said gently pushing him away from her, "We must leave this place. It is not safe."  
  
The elf nodded, but before he stood he closed his eyes and whispered an elven prayer so softly, that even Gandalf could not make it out. Then Legolas touched his forehead with his fingers and placed his hands on Kizea's boots. Gandalf was now greatly alarmed. Such a display of intense emotion was extremely rare for the woodland elves, and unheard of for the even-tempered Legolas. Gandalf really had no idea what had transpired between the two on the mountainside, but Legolas was in essence, vowing his eternal devotion to the baffled Fendowan. Should she attempt destroying the stone of Anor as she previously had promised, Legolas and he would have to stop her by any means necessary, even unto killing Kizea. Now Gandalf stood in doubt as to whether Legolas could carry out such an extreme mission. Worse yet, he even sensed that now Legolas would help her if she begged him. Gandalf resolved to find out what had transpired, but now was not the time. They had great need of leaving the area as soon as possible.  
  
Gandalf half wondered if Kizea was stronger magically than he originally thought, and that she had placed a spell on the elf. He knew that Melune's Fendowan voice, even distorted as it was, caused the elf to completely let his guard down.  
  
Of course, Gandalf had no knowledge of Legolas's love for Nevariel. Gandalf had never actually seen them together in Imladris, and he was not present at the Battle of Isodor, where Nevariel had fallen to betrayal and death. Only Kerrinais knew of Legolas's grief, and he was not there to enlighten the wizard. After the battle, it was Kerrinais who helped his friend in the frantic search for the young queen in the remote castle of Isodor. It was there where Legolas discovered her body, cast over the battlement to the ground below. It was Kerrinais who watched as Legolas intertwined the strands of his own hair with Nevariel's, placing them into her cold hand. Even as the young queen was born away from the battlefield by her half- brother Valnin, and two other members of her army, she clutched in death at the strand of braided lock, taking with her all of Legolas's desires, heart and hope. It was the most wretched day of the elf's long existence. To see the selfsame strand of braid again, and to know that the only person who could have such a favor was Nevariel herself, simply overwhelmed the elf.  
  
Neonean came trotting up them, and happily nuzzled the back of the elf's head. Being a horse of some cleverness, she had strayed clear of the landslide until all was quiet, then she bounded towards her master without having been called. Standing up, Legolas brushed himself off and walked over to pick up the Fendowan dagger that he had left on the ground. He extended it to Kizea, handle first, and smiled at her.  
  
"I believe this is yours," he said to her.  
  
Kizea took the knife and placed it in the sheath on her belt. Though they spent some time searching for the second dagger, it was not to be found. The sun was waning fast in the west, and the final, deep red rays of the day seemed more warming. At last, Gandalf prodded the two into continuing the journey. The hour was growing late, and they needed to make a camp for the night further down the mountain, away from further mishaps.  
  
"This is Melune's doing," Kizea said loudly to Gandalf as she scanned the ground, "She is too cowardly to follow us across the light and airy snow capped mountains, so she sends her magic to do her work."  
  
Gandalf nodded looking around nervously.  
  
"Her reach has grown long," Gandalf said to them, "We must proceed with caution as we approach the Eyries. She will be watching and waiting. Her desire to obtain the stone of Anor for the Dark Lord is greater now that we are drawing close to it."  
  
"Are you sure you are alright?" Kizea said to Legolas quizzically as they prepared to leave, "Were you not perhaps hit in the head by a rock?"  
  
Legolas grinned, shaking his head. The very thought of such clumsiness in an elf amused him. But he said nothing further to her of her identity. Kizea was a Fendowan warrior now and had cast aside all of her former existence, even though she had talked of it in secret to him. The elf decided it was the better part of intelligence not to make any further statements to her on the subject until the time was right, if indeed it ever came. But the mere thoughts of destiny bringing his Nevariel back to him in such a way, made the elf positively giddy.  
  
"No," he mused, "I am well. But I thank you for your aid my lady. Today is turning out to be a fortunate day for me indeed."  
  
"Take greater care in the future," Kizea admonished as she pulled herself onto Neonean, "I cannot afford to lose my last dagger. The next time I'll not jump off a cliff to save you!"  
  
"Nor would I want you to." he smiled.  
  
Without any effort, Legolas now gladly mounted Neonean behind Kizea. Observing the elf, Gandalf frowned once more. Legolas seemed to know what the wizard knew, that Kizea was actually Queen Lisaine, although Gandalf seemed less sure. The wizard thought that Legolas's happiness was reflected in his realization that he traveled with the Lossenladwen (Queen of Courage), a true elven celebrity. So named in elven song in the years following the Battle of Isodor, for her aid in the elves fight against Rakal. The queen had re-united with her decimated army after Rakal had nearly destroyed them all in the Anduin. But instead of riding back to reclaim her kingdom, the young queen, who loved all things elven, rode against Rakal's overwhelming forces in Isodor. It was this single act that saved the elves at the last moment, but cost the queen dearly. It was for that sacrifice that she was thus revered among the elves. Gandalf was sure this explained Legolas's odd behavior, but he remained puzzled as to how Legolas suddenly knew.  
  
Gandalf spurred his horse, and the riders bounded down across a small ravine. A worn, well-traveled road that disappeared into the distance was now before them. Traveling would be easier now. They had made the crossing over the High Pass, and continued north along the eastern foothills of the Misty Mountains, towards the Eagles Eyries and Gwaihir the Windlord. 


	15. In the Falls Washes Hope

After eleven days' journey, Gandalf, Legolas and Kizea emerged triumphant on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. Once again the green of late summer grew resplendent throughout the foothills. Trees were growing more and more common, which was a comfort to the elf, who had lived all of three thousand years in the woods and forest. The sun seemed to sink earlier now, blotted out before it's final fall in the western sky by the mountain peaks.  
  
They were all tired, save for Legolas who seemed to have a renewed, boundless energy. The only sound to be heard was the occasional admonishment of Kizea, scolding the elf for gripping her waist too tightly. Here in the shadows of the mountains, they took a final camp for the night before the next day's push to the home of Gwaihir the Windlord, who had the Stone of Anor within his possession all this while. It was a way so secret, that not even the lesser of the woodland elves knew the trail. Gandalf knew it. Gwaihir had come to be a close and trusted confident of the wizard. Few orcs or beasts of Sauron dared travel so far north as to be in the Eyries territory. The eagles that lived there, larger in stature than any man, with their keen eyesight and razor sharp talons, brooked no trespassing. Any orc that was unlucky enough to stray into their homeland was quickly dispatched and was never heard from again. Sauron made few attempts at overcoming this part of the world yet, there were so many others to conquer first.  
  
Despite Legolas's assurances of her safety, following a light supper of wild berries and boiled root potatoes, Kizea wandered away to spend the evening in a tree; an occurrence so common now, that neither the elf nor the wizard gave much thought of her behavior. Climbing to the upper portions of a knotted tree, Kizea picked out the sturdiest uppermost limb and straddled it, sliding down to the trunk. She gazed out to the clearing, just as the last vestiges of daylight waned in the night sky. Already the stars and the moon were out. There was just enough light to see the horses amble towards her to keep their nightly vigil wherever she was. She looked on at Legolas and Gandalf, sitting at a small bonfire. Even against the bright firelight, Legolas seemed to outshine everything around him. This was the time of the evening when Kizea liked best to observe the elf. From her safe distance, she felt free to think her pleasant thoughts. He was as mysterious to her now as he seemed when she first saw him in Mirkwood. Legolas's long, flaxen hair, fell carelessly about his shoulders as he spoke privately to the wizard.  
  
Although Kizea could not understand his discourse, she watched his mouth moving with mild curiosity. Legolas always displayed a serious, earnest face when he talked. He could speak to a person and look right through them with his penetrating, dark eyes. Such was the gift of an elf. It was a trait that he, himself didn't realize he had to mortals, yet he had it all the same. He always kept his bow and quiver of arrows near him, even when relaxing at dinner. Often spending much time in the evenings sharpening and shining his long elven knifes. They were formidable weapons in the hands of someone who has had three thousand years and uncounted battles to practice and perfect his techniques. Despite his daunting talents as a warrior, Legolas contained within him that ethereal quality and distant, unattainable beauty that made him so charismatic to her. And whenever she thought he was not paying attention, she simply took great pleasure in looking at him.  
  
Tonight though, her little enjoyments were cut short. Legolas kept a vigilant eye in her direction, and she did not wish to seem too overt to the elf. She was, after all, on a quest. And her growing involvement in other pleasantries held no place in it. To find the Stone of Anor she was avowed. But what was to be done after that? What would she do once she had the stone again? And how would she triumph over Melune? Gandalf had mentioned that other name to her during their journey, Shazoul. But the name meant little to her. It was Legolas's reaction that made Kizea quell with fright. For an elf such as Legolas to show fear at the mere mention of a name, told Kizea that Melune was now something well beyond a traitor. Melune was a fellow Fendowan of such mightiness now, that Kizea was not sure Melune could not manage to overcome the stone's immense powers and kill her regardless of the Fendowan vows. She somberly thought of it over and over.  
  
"No Fendowan may spill the blood of another Fendowan, the stone will prevent you."  
  
She looked across the glade, staring again at the elf and she sighed.  
  
At the campfire, Legolas suddenly turned his head in Kizea's direction. A concerned expression covered his face.  
  
"What is it?" Gandalf asked. The wizard looked over to the woods, suddenly alarmed, and then turned his attentions back to the elf. The elf did not answer him.  
  
"Legolas!"  
  
The elf turned back and gazed blankly back into the fire.  
  
"She sighed." Legolas replied, "I know not why. Something is disturbing her. I can feel her very mind."  
  
Gandalf bristled and brought his pipe to his mouth. He studied the elf for a moment before speaking.  
  
"You recognize her now, do you not?" the wizard asked. Legolas did not answer immediately, but continued to gaze into the fire. Gandalf wanted to hear his answer, and the elf knew it.  
  
"Yes," Legolas replied at last, "She is the Lossenladwen. The Queen Lisaine returned. I am sure of it."  
  
"She is not." Gandalf replied stoically.  
  
Legolas's gaze drifted upwards towards Gandalf. Could the wizard have any doubts? It did not seem possible. Gandalf bent in towards Legolas and spoke in a quieter tone of voice.  
  
"A queen she may have been at one time Legolas, but she exists now only as a Fendowan. While she may be remembering her former life, she remains a chosen keeper for the Stone of Anor. She is not the woman you remember from Isodor. That is behind her now. And you must put it behind you as well. You must steel yourself against what loyalty you may feel. A hero to the elves she once was, but as a Fendowan, she will not relinquish what she believes is her duty. There is no devotion in her heart to the elves anymore. It has been wiped clean from her mind. She is no longer merely Lisaine, a queen, but something more sinister than that."  
  
Legolas tightened his stare at the wizard.  
  
"You do not understand Gandalf," Legolas replied miserably. He paused momentarily. Yes, he thought, Gandalf needed to know. The situation had now changed for Legolas, and in terms of their quest, not for the better.  
  
"I pledged my troth to her the night before I left for the Battle at Isodor. In Rivendell she lived in exile, forsaking her royal standing among mortal men to live as an elf of no rank. The very reason she rode as a queen into Isodor to fight Rakal was for my sake. But for me, she would not have pursued Rakal at all. She saved Isodor and Imladris that day at the cost of her own life, and all those around her. The lock of braided hair she carries with her, like some strange thread of her past, is my own. I placed it in her hand myself when I found her dead. And for my part, nothing has changed between us. It would be a faithless gesture to turn on her now. I must hold to hope that she will eventually come to remember our troth. I can no sooner cause her death, Gandalf, than I can willingly cause my own."  
  
Gandalf was taken aback. This revelation was most unexpected. Until now, he had only conceived that Legolas was mystified and grateful for the return of an elven hero, not the great love of his life. Once chosen, a mate for an elf was virtually never disavowed. Now he understood Legolas's behavior at the hill. And now he was coming to understand a new peril that was unfolding before him. Gandalf knew they could not afford dissent between themselves. If the Stone of Anor were to remain unharmed, he would need the elf. Legolas watched as Gandalf slowly placed his pipe on the ground. With each new revelation, their position grew more serious.  
  
"She is not whom you believe her to be." Gandalf repeated gravely, "If she attempts to destroy the Stone of Anor, we must prevent her at all costs. As a Fendowan, she will fight to the death for its possession. And the nearer to the stone she comes, the more to a Fendowan's mind she will return. Believe me Legolas, if the stone is destroyed, many times more than were at Isodor will perish. If Kizea should endeavor to break the Stone of Anor, even to prevent Shazoul from obtaining it, you or I MUST stop her, even unto killing her."  
  
The elf gazed back into the crackling fire. His lips pursed and his fists tightened.  
  
"I will not." He replied.  
  
At the tree, a slight crack of a stick beneath Kizea jerked her attentions away. She gazed down at the horses, and instantly became alarmed. They were backing away nervously from where they were grazing underneath the tree. Kizea pulled out her remaining dagger, and pulled herself to a squatting position on the branch, looking around to the surrounding treetops. Already, Legolas was bounding though the field towards her, having also heard the noise. But only the cool night breezes blew lightly around her face, and she could see or hear nothing else in the darkness. But she had heard something.  
  
Running up to the base of the tree, Legolas glanced around. Then he looked upwards.  
  
"What is it?" he called.  
  
"I thought I heard something," Kizea called down, "But perhaps it was only the wind. Or some stray animal rummaging in the forest. I do not know."  
  
"You should spend your evening at the protection of the fire." Legolas called, "Come down, Kizea. There are snakes in these trees."  
  
Kizea laughed and called down again.  
  
"You would tell me anything to prompt me from my comfortable perch would you not Legolas?"  
  
Another movement from above startled the girl. Gazing up to another branch, against the faint moonlight she saw a long, slender and slithering animal wrapping itself around another tree branch barely a foot above her. Kizea's eyes widened in surprise and she instantly began to climb downwards. Of course, Legolas had seen the snake above her long before Kizea did, and he paid no mind to it. He only made the comment to Kizea because he knew the snake was there. Still his ploy had worked in bringing the girl down from the tree, again. She jumped to the ground from a low-lying branch, and stood up, nearly running into the elf. He had an impish grin on his face as he replaced his elven white knives, satisfied that the danger was no more than a woodland creature.  
  
"I was growing thirsty anyway," she commented as she calmly walked by. Legolas, still grinning slightly at his small victory, walked quietly behind her into the clearing towards the fire. Then his expression turned somber and he stopped short. He turned and looked back into the blackness of the woods, again to the tree. With his keen elvish eyesight, could plainly see the long black snake now coiled around the branch where Kizea was perched only minutes before, hissing. Legolas frowned. Taking a small dagger from his belt, the elf heaved it into the tree and stepped backwards. The snake fell lifeless through the branches, its venomous fangs still exposed. It fell to the elf's feet with a thud. He carefully placed his foot against the snake's head and pulled out the knife, noticing as he bent over that his elven knife was searing the flesh of the snake. Tiny wisps of smoke rose from the base of the wound as he removed the blade. A telltale sign that the creature was no mere woodland animal, but a minion of the darkness. He wiped the edge of the blade on the dead leaves at his feet before returning it to his belt. Then he turned and walked back to the campfire.  
  
Kizea awoke early the next morning, curled beside a blazing fire. An elven blanket was draped over her shoulders, and she had unknowingly pulled it tight to her during the night. Kizea thought it was a curious thing; she had not recalled Legolas wearing it during their entire trip. The fire had been well stoked throughout the night, and for the first time in weeks, Kizea felt rested. She sat up, looking lazily around the campsite. Her back and legs ached. Without looking at herself, she already knew that she'd acquired many bruises in their adventure in the foothills the previous day. Still sitting on the ground, she slowly worked her leg back and forth. It behaved like a rusted hinge that had only partial movement. Her left knee had sustained an impact from a fallen rock and it was quite swollen. But even such minor annoyances did not dim her spirit.  
  
"Soon," she thought almost jovially, "The Stone of Anor will be in my hand and I will have Valnin. Then I will make the world will safe again."  
  
She remained blithely unaware of the many conversations that Gandalf and Legolas had of the stone themselves. Kizea found herself alone in the brightening sunshine, and she glanced quickly about the area. Gandalf was nowhere to be seen, and Legolas was busy kicking over branches and rocks in the area where she had sat in the tree the night before. Even though he had stayed awake throughout the night, it was of no heavy consequence to the elf. Happily, there were no further disturbances in the glade. Legolas walked quickly, the leaves crunching loudly beneath his feet, to investigate the spot where he had slain the snake the previous night. He was not especially surprised to discover that it was now gone. And Legolas thought only briefly to mention it to the wizard when he returned.  
  
But Gandalf was not soon back to the campsite. Kizea and Legolas busied themselves with preparations for departure throughout most of the morning. It was not until mid-morning when the wizard strolled back into the glade, declaring the need for immediate departure. Legolas walked up to Gandalf with a worried look on his face. He was concerned for their conversations, for the fate of the stone and of Kizea. Legolas knew that they approached their destination, and soon all would be put to the final test. Still, Gandalf seemed to reassure the elf. He placed a hand on his shoulder, and patted it like a father would his young child. When Legolas mounted Neonean, Kizea was already waiting to leave. Normally, she did not talk to the elf, but this time she thought to speak to him. She winced slightly when the elf placed his hands around her waist and pulled her tight against him. Still he did not cry out or move away.  
  
"Is something wrong?" she asked in a soft voice.  
  
"No," Legolas replied as the horse began to trot away, "A minor disagreement only."  
  
Their travel slowed as they crossed over the eastern foothills. The sun, high above their heads, was only now beginning to burn off a heavy fog that had settled over their path. Legolas rode with his right arm clutching his bow, his eyes methodically darting back and forth. Gandalf rode in front, keeping his eyes more upward than straight ahead. Kizea knew they were getting close by her own nervous countenance. Her bruised hand rested at all times on her one remaining dagger.  
  
At the top of the peak of Gaereal, they dismounted for a rest. It was late afternoon, and the heat of the day was beginning to cool. In this spot, the relatively small tributary Morrae gathered the strength of several nameless mountain streams and spilled off the long and craggy waterfalls Garnorna into a large basin below. Kizea walked over to the edge of the bluff and stared down into the mighty gorge. Huge sprays of mist danced in the afternoon light, catching rays of sunshine and turning them into spectacular rainbows. A shudder ran through Kizea and she looked upwards to see something in the far off distance flying towards them. The object was small at first, and it dodged and weaved, up and down in its approach.  
  
She stood for some moments watching it, but as it grew closer, it grew larger and larger until Kizea realized the actual breath and scale of the huge bird. Her eyes widened and she spun around to see that Legolas and Gandalf were also observing Gwaihir's approach. The very downturn of the mighty eagle's wings created a strong breeze and Kizea's tunic flapped carelessly about her body. Having landed, Kizea could now plainly see the bird's entire magnificence. Gwaihir's immense gray and black feathers glistened in the light. He was as tall as the wizard who now approached him with a friendly arm extended. His long curved beak and dagger-like talons ended in fine, tiny points. Gwaihir gently landed on top of the bluff, next to where the wizard stood. Kizea's awe of the giant bird only subsided when she caught sight of the shining yellow stone that he held tightly in his left claw. She began walking back away from the cliff's edge towards Gwaihir, suddenly unaware of Legolas or Gandalf or any other presence. It was hard for her to fathom that at last her search was over. At last the sacred Stone of Anor was within her grasp. Kizea was nearly onto Gwaihir when a sudden burst of air whistling by Kizea's head made her turn suddenly towards the forest.  
  
From the dense thicket emerged four large orcs, laughing hideously, all brandishing bow and arrow. The trap had been sprung. As they lurched quickly forward, they let fly their arrows as quickly as they could string their bows. Behind them ran two Fendowan, Sasgal and Tragora, and finally, a seven-foot tall, frightful beast with glowing black and red eyes. Melune had made her final transformation into Shazoul the demon. The only reminders of her former station were the Fendowan mask, which she still wore proudly like a trophy, and her daggers.  
  
Gandalf cried out and drew his sword. Kizea ran towards the demon general, seizing her one dagger from its hilt as she ran. Kizea plunged headlong into the orc line, easily dodging an arrow and slashing its owner through the neck. Before the beast even fell to the ground, Kizea laid her foot against its chest, heaving it into two others orcs. They tumbled to the side and Kizea leaped over the pile towards Shazoul.  
  
Legolas, with three arrows remaining in his quiver, shot them in rapid succession at the two Fendowan who were on Gandalf. Two arrows were deflected, but one approached the Fendowan Rundin with such speed, that she could not deflect it entirely away from her. The arrow did not pierce her heart, as Legolas had intended, but instead stuck fast into her thigh. She screamed out in fury and incredulous disbelief and fell moaning to the ground. The sizzle of the elven arrow pierced her like a hot poker from a fire.  
  
"Gwaihir!" Gandalf yelled, "Go! Go!"  
  
The mighty eagle, yet grasping the Stone of Anor within his great claw, slowly ascended into the air. But Shazoul was not willing to give up her objective so easily. Not yet. She heaved one of her Fendowan daggers at the eagle as it slowly rose just beyond the edge of the falls. The dagger hit its mark, and Gwaihir's piercing cries rang out over the valley. He dropped the stone over the falls and flew down to the treetops, far below. With his wing now broken, there was nothing more Gwaihir could do.  
  
The stone, however, did not fall into the endless, tumbling water. It landed on a tiny ledge, 15 feet below the cliff's edge, teetering on the tiny outcropping as water from above sprayed all around it.  
  
"The stone!" Gandalf yelled over the crashing of the falls, "We must retrieve the stone!"  
  
With Gandalf pursuing the remaining Fendowan back into the woods, and Legolas now single-handedly fought with the two remaining orcs. Kizea once again found herself confronting Melune alone. Her knees shook as she stood before the towering creature. Shazoul's skin, now totally blackened with open sores produced a hideous smell that choked Kizea. Saliva dripped freely from Shazoul's Fendowan mask. Kizea stood erect and proud. Pointing her one remaining dagger directly at Shazoul, she said loudly,  
  
"Alia Aya Ungala Anor! (For the light of Anor!)"  
  
Shazoul, however, did not reciprocate. She only laughed and sprang into the air at the incredulous Kizea. Fendowan ritual no longer held any importance to Melune. Instantly, Kizea dove aside, pivoting herself around as she did, stabbing Shazoul in the back with her dagger and pulling it out. Shazoul turned and heaved a heavy arm at Kizea, who muffled a groan as she was thrown 10 feet. Once again Kizea scrambled to her feet, dodging and stabbing the giant beast until nearly all her strength was finished.  
  
Shazoul, however, seemed not in the least affected by her wounds. Bleeding from all sides now, she merely laughed at Kizea's feeble attempts. Not so with Kizea. By now she was reeling from each of Shazoul's blows. Kizea stood before the orc captain, gasping for air. Sweat dripped from her temple down her face. At the cliff's edge, Legolas had managed to kill Shazoul's orcs. But he quickly discerned a new threat. Tragora, one of Shazoul's Fendowan servants, had emerged alone from the woods, and was now quietly stepping up behind Kizea. Legolas rushed forward, engaging her in a new hand-to-hand combat. Kizea hardly gave him a sideways glance. All of her concentrations were bent upon Shazoul.  
  
"You have grown so weak! You are hardly worth an orc lord's time!" Shazoul croaked sarcastically, "Your pitiful daggers will have no effect upon me. No Fendowan may spill the blood of another Fendowan. But I shall crush you as I did your brother, and I will have the Stone of Anor as my prize! If you are lucky, perhaps I will bring you to life again as my personal slave."  
  
Standing there on the cliff top, physically exhausted, Kizea was suddenly come to a realization of Shazoul's words. The demon would not kill Kizea by spilling her blood, but by beating her to death, or tossing her over the falls as she did to Valnin. A deep-seated and uncontrolled fear arose within Kizea. Melune had found a way to kill her at last. She looked urgently towards Legolas, but he could not help her. He was still engaged in a bitter fight with Tragora. The sounds of metal clanging echoed throughout the hills. Kizea swallowed hard and glared back at the hideous creature before her.  
  
"You flatter yourself," Kizea replied angrily, "Make no mistake, Melune, I WILL find a way to defeat you. For the stone AND for Valnin."  
  
"Not Melune," she croaked evilly, "I am Shazoul, the mighty victor of Sauron. I am the new Fendowan order. I am the despair. I am the death you seek."  
  
"No matter," Kizea said under her breath, "Melune or Shazoul, I will kill you."  
  
"Here then," Shazoul hissed, "You will need this. All you need do is retrieve it."  
  
She then threw her last Fendowan dagger to the ground, only a few feet from herself. But Kizea did not move, she knew that the demon would spring upon her, and she could not risk it.  
  
In a final effort, Kizea heaved her only dagger as hard as she could at Shazoul. Fearless and confident, the beast neither jumped aside nor uttered a cry. The dagger pierced deeply into Shazoul's chest, and although she staggered backward, the demon did not fall. A mesmerizing yellow light immediately sprang up the wound, and shown against Shazoul's foul, blackened skin as a sparkling diamond might in a coal mine. Kizea was now disarmed and exhausted before the mightiest of Sauron's minions. But as Shazoul stepped backwards, she lost her footing in a small hole in the ground. Being now large and not as quick or graceful, Shazoul fell clumsily on her back with Kizea's dagger still entrenched into her chest. That moment was all the time Kizea would need.  
  
Running forward, Kizea snatched up Shazoul's dagger from the ground and jumped to straddle her head. Kizea held the dagger menacingly over the face of her foe, but Shazoul was not afraid, and even began to laugh.  
  
The demon grabbed at Kizea's leg, as she jumped into the air. Kizea stomped her heel into the dagger as she sprang away, thrusting it up to its very hilt into the Shazoul's chest. Completing the somersault, Kizea now stood some two or three feet away from Shazoul. The huge orc now rose to her feet, towering above the girl. Kizea leapt backwards and held Shazoul's dagger in front of her in a defensive posture.  
  
"Do you not see these tiny daggers cannot harm me!" she croaked, "Mortal fool! You could have been invincible like me. You could have lived forever and put all of the races of Middle-Earth at your feet! And you threw it away! And now I shall destroy you! You have no hope left, Kizea! I was always the stronger!"  
  
"And I was always the wiser," Kizea replied defiantly.  
  
Lifting the dagger upwards, Kizea grabbed the back of her own hair, and with one hard swipe, cut the entire length of garnet strings and her hair, which held her Fendowan mask in place. Shazoul was dumbfounded.  
  
"What?" Shazoul cried in disbelief.  
  
Kizea tossed aside the lock of hair and then yanked at her mask, pulling it away from her face. She dropped the heavy golden cover to the ground. At once, a blinding light shined all about her. It was so blinding that even Legolas and Tragora forgot their battle and put down their weapons, and were forced to shield their eyes. But as the light began to slowly fade away, Legolas could see a familiar face emerging from the light; and it was the face of Lisaine.  
  
And as the light faded all around Kizea, the light also faded from the dagger that was embedded in Shazoul's chest. She suddenly screamed in agony and terror. The orc sank to her knees, attempting to pull out the dagger, but it was too deep. The beast became frozen in her own pain and she was unable to move. Watching Kizea limp up to her, she could not speak but only saw the hatred that was now in Kizea's eyes. Blackened blood oozed freely through her hideous, pointed teeth.  
  
"How is this possible?" Shazoul whispered coughing, "No Fendowan can spill the blood of another Fendowan!"  
  
"But then, beast, I am no longer a Fendowan!" Kizea cried out.  
  
Her great chest heaving, Shazoul swayed one way and then the other, and then she fell over, dead. For a brief second Kizea stood over her, breathing hard. But the sounds of clanging of metal made her turn around. Legolas was yet fighting Tragora. He had been stabbed in his shoulder, but otherwise seemed unharmed. Gandalf was nowhere in sight. But instead of coming to Legolas's aid, Kizea made for the jagged cliff next to the falls.  
  
"I am for the stone!" she called to Legolas and she began to carefully climb down the slippery rock edge.  
  
Fifteen feet down from the peak of the cliff Kizea carefully stepped. The Stone of Anor was nearly within her grasp. Kizea held onto a small ledge with her right hand, and she extended her left as far as she could. The stone, now perilously close to being washed away by the crushing falls was a mere inch or two from her fingertips. She tried to get a foothold on the rocks to gain better leverage, but her feet kept sliding away from the sheer wall beneath her. Suddenly, Kizea could feel her finger crack and she jerked herself back, crying out in pain. Her fourth finger had suddenly dislocated again. She put her forehead against the cliff, water tumbling all about her. When the initial pain had subsided, she grimaced and used but three fingers to hold up her body weight as she made another attempt to reach the stone. Stretching out again to the left, her fingers nearly touched the stone when a sudden clang and cry from above made her look up. From somewhere above, Legolas had been stabbed again and he now teetered on the edge of the falls himself, hovering on the edge of consciousness.  
  
As she looked on in horror, Tragora tumbled lifeless off the falls past her. Legolas had won the battle against the Fendowan. Kizea looked up for another moment, trying to make out where Legolas was. It was difficult for her to see. The crashing falls sprayed water mercilessly into her eyes, yet she had no free hand to shield them. She clung precariously to the cliff face, struggling to keep her grip. Nothing happened. Kizea looked back towards the stone and made one final supreme effort to stretch her hand to it before the stone was washed away. Reaching out as far as she could, she muffled another cry as agonizing pain shot up through her arm. Her fingers barely touched it. However, in that very moment, when her prize seemed assured, another body tumbled past her from the top of the falls and crashed into the swirling, dark water below. And Kizea knew that it had to be the elf.  
  
She cried out loud and a shudder ran through her body as she watched his descent and heard the loud splash into the water far below. It was as though she watched him in slow motion. Free now from the Stone of Anor's restraints, Kizea past life flooded back into her mind. Her memories filled with stately castles in the Anduin, her devoted father, elven dances and the beautiful Legolas, standing before her like a dream in the Bruinen at Rivendell. And, clinging to the cliff face, she realized in horror that it had been Legolas all along.  
  
An unhappy choice now lay before her. Obtain the Stone of Anor, for which she had fought so long and hard, and leave the unconscious Legolas to drown, or abandon her quest, and her brother, Valnin to death, and save her beloved elven lord. The choice was not a difficult one.  
  
She immediately pressed her feet against the smooth rock face and let go of the cliff, springing backwards into the air. Somersaulting, she righted herself to enter the water, feet first. Some 75 feet above her on the cliff face, an errant gush of water nudged the Stone of Anor to the bitter edge of the outcropping. It hovered for an instant, and then fell without ceremony into the black depths of the swirling pool.  
  
A crush of wind covered her face, and her stomach seemed to lift into her chest as she freefell. Keeping her arms and legs tightly together, as she prepared to hit the water. As she hurdled towards the center of the swirling pool she clenched her buttocks and took a deep breath. Another moment went by and she was under the water. At that moment, she opened her arms, legs and eyes and began a tormented search for the elf. She was not sure that he was even alive, but she was determined to find him. Her first effort was to no avail. Kizea surfaced, breathing hard and searching downstream. Taking another deep breath, Kizea dove under the water, looking wildly around.  
  
The glint of silver caught her eye, and she made towards it. What she had seen was, in fact, Menea, Legolas's ever-glowing elven sword. The elf's battle with Tragora had been so swift and so furious that he had not the time to unsheathe the weapon. Now it was his savior. Legolas was floating aimlessly beneath the water, his body turning about in a small circle, but sinking ever farther into the murky depths. Kizea wrapped her right arm tightly around Legolas's chest and swam towards the surface with all that was left of her strength. When they surfaced, Kizea realized that they were being swept downstream, and into shallower water, by the currents. She picked an area in a bend of the river and dragged the elf ashore, laying him on his back. She rested her ear on his chest, half from exhaustion, half from the desire to detect his breathing. He was. His wounds were minor by elven standards, but seemed savage enough to the frightened girl.  
  
Coughing and gasping for air, Kizea lifted her head, dripping with water, and dragged herself up to Legolas's face. She cradled his head in her arms, and a feeling of terror seized hold of her, for a tense moment she really could not tell if Legolas was dead or no.  
  
"My lord Legolas," she said quietly as she stroked his hair back with two, tiny fingers, "Open your eyes to me. My Lord!"  
  
Almost at the moment she spoke, the elf slowly awakened. He did not move, but as he stared into Kizea's eyes, he knew that she was once again his Nevariel. Her expression was full of emotion and recognition, and tears of happiness streamed down her face.  
  
"I could never have hoped to see you again, Nevariel," he whispered, "It is a dream beyond all my desire and reason."  
  
"Fate can part us for but a while," she whispered back, "If I am to die a thousand deaths, I will ever remain yours, and we will ever find our way to one another."  
  
The elf reached up to her face, and lifted his head slightly, pressing his lips to hers. Instantly, Legolas remembered the softness of her kiss, a feeling that until now, he was sure he would never experience again. Their tender moment was not to last long. The sounds of footsteps approaching from nearby distracted Nevariel, and she scrambled to stand. Her legs were shaky and she had no weapon with which to fight. But Nevariel was determined not to lose her elven master again, and she lifted her fists preparing for an attack. The move highly amused the elf, for she obviously had nothing left in her. Legolas also knew the sounds of the familiar footsteps.  
  
As they watched the bushes, a shaking of the treetops diverted their eyes momentarily to the air. Gwaihir rose slowly over the canopy, eyeing the two for a moment before catching a downdraft from the mountainside. In a moment, he was whisked away on the thermals, his wing seemed perfectly healthy. It was Gandalf, in fact, who had found Gwaihir after pursing and defeating Sasgal in the woods, and worked a wizard's magic upon his friend. Gwaihir being healed and relieved of his immense duty, left, satisfied that Gandalf was there. The wizard now stepped over the thicket of the brush, making his way towards Nevariel and Legolas. He stopped some 10 feet away from the girl. She was wide-eyed, frightened, and dripping wet. One fist clenched in a defensive stance, the other only partially closed, her finger remained dislocated. Still, she stood in defiant protection in front of the injured Legolas. Gandalf tightened his gaze upon her. There was no trace of Kizea in her eyes. At once the wizard broke into a wide grin.  
  
"It is good to see you again, your highness," he said in a pleasant sort of voice, bowing his head.  
  
When Legolas attempted to sit up, he groaned, and lay back upon the ground, closing his eyes. Nevariel glanced down worried at the elf, and lowered her arms.  
  
"Legolas is injured," she exclaimed, "We must return him to Mirkwood at once! Where is Neonean? Is she about? Have you seen Legolas's horse Gandalf?"  
  
"Are you not forgetting something, my dear?" Gandalf said, almost amused.  
  
Nevariel looked up suddenly, confused by the wizard's words. To her, there was nothing more important at that moment than seeing to Legolas's aid. But Gandalf walked quietly up to the stream's edge and placed the end of his staff in the water. From the depths of the whirlpool beyond came a shining light through the water. It rode underneath the current over submerged stones, moving to the left and the right, until it almost touched Gandalf's staff. Just at that moment, the wizard lifted the magical stick from the water, and Nevariel once again beheld the Stone of Anor before her.  
  
Staring at the brightly shining rock, Nevariel moved towards the water, her hand outstretched, but Legolas quickly extended his arm out to her, as if to hold her back. Turning her head towards the elf, she gave him a reassuring smile. Then Nevariel reached into the icy water and plucked the stone from the stream. She held it for a moment, its blinding light increased by her touch, but she did not blink or shield her eyes, but stared directly into its intense brightness. Lowering her hand, the light seemed to subside. Nevariel walked a few paces to where the wizard stood, and held out her open hand to him.  
  
"Take it Gandalf," Nevariel said, "If I were to return the stone to Goldorma, perhaps the Dark Lord will find another way to possess it. But in your hands, I know it will remain safe."  
  
The wizard tentatively held out his wrinkled hand, staring wide-eyed at the stone. When placed she placed it into his palm, the stone once more blazed white, and it was now Nevariel who turned her head aside. When she looked again, Gandalf was setting the stone atop his wooden staff, and Nevariel stepped backwards to admire it one last time.  
  
"My part is done, Gandalf. You are now the servant of the Secret Fire. You must now wield the flame of Anor. The Fendowans, once mighty and powerful above all others, I fear, are no more."  
  
Gandalf stepped up to Nevariel and placed his hand upon her shoulder and smiled.  
  
"Your old life is behind you. A new life awaits you. Come. Let us return to Mirkwood and rest."  
  
The elf groaned again as he stood upright. Quickly, Nevariel stepped over to him, placing her arm about his thin waist in order to steady him. His jerkin was stained red where he was wounded. The elf's resilience was nothing short of astounding to the girl, and she grinned unembarrassed at the dripping wet elf. In truth, Nevariel did not look much better. Her tunic was torn and her long auburn hair betrayed an odd bald section in the back of her head. She and the elf both looked frightful, and undignified, but in each other's presence, neither seemed to care or notice.  
  
"Your father will no doubt have me blindfolded and thrown to my cell upon our triumphant return. I have given his prize away." Nevariel said to him teasingly.  
  
Legolas looked into her eyes and placed his hand upon her reddening cheek.  
  
"You have saved the Stone of Anor from Sauron, Lossenladwen," Legolas said, his voice filled with admiration, "And you have saved the king's son for the second time, now. I think you will return to more of a hero's welcome than a prisoner's suspicion."  
  
"I should be glad to return with you then, my Lord" she smiled. She lightly brushed his arm with her tiny fingers and her touch sent an exuberant chill through the elf.  
  
"I have it in my mind to dance."  
  
Legolas gently pulled her arm away and he limped towards the tree line as he whistled for Neonean. A broad grin escaped his face at the thoughts of seeing his Nevariel dance for him once more. It was a custom she would repeat often for the elf.  
  
The light of the day was beginning to fade over the mountains when they set off on a path South, towards the Carrock and the former kingdom of Euphratas. Nevariel rode, as always, with Legolas. With his betrothed returned to him again, Legolas's entire demeanor was markedly improved. Even the pain of his injuries seemed to pale against the light of his unexpected second chance. It was enough for the long journey home. Gandalf, who rode on ahead, could hear their soft whisperings to one another, coupled with an occasional admonishment from Nevariel demanding that the elf soften his grip about her waist.  
  
Nestled within Gandalf's staff, the Stone of Anor sat safely, exuding its magnificent light through the penetrating darkness of the Anduin valley. And far away to the South, in the black lands of Mordor, the mountain of Orodruin (Mount Doom) seethed and wretched, spewing fury with a renewed and terrible fervor. It was an opportunity gone. It was anger without restraint. The Dark Lord was now forced to wait for yet one more opportunity to cross his path before he could satiate his eternal lust for domination. He would not have to wait long. 


End file.
